


Kiss Me (Like You Wanna Be Loved)

by kazzydolyn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji is Bad at Feelings, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bokuto Koutarou is a Human Exclamation Mark, Consent is Sexy, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Kissing, Living Together, M/M, Roommates, Sexual Experimentation, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 56,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26025970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazzydolyn/pseuds/kazzydolyn
Summary: Akaashi Keiji considers himself to be a fairly intelligent person.Until he meets Bokuto Koutarou, and he starts making some very bad decisions.Because the only thing stupider than getting into a friends-with-benefits arrangement with your obnoxiously attractive roommate is falling in love with said obnoxiously attractive roommate.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 1267
Kudos: 4536





	1. Roommate Problems

**Author's Note:**

> So I usually stick to canon compliant bokuaka but I had this idea and just _had_ to run with it.
> 
> There’s gonna be a lot of indulgent fluff, a decent amount of smut, and just a lil bit of angst (because Akaashi Keiji is Bad at Feelings). But fear not, for there will be a happy ending! I honestly don’t think I’m capable of writing a bokuaka fic where they don’t end up happily in love. They just BELONG TOGETHER in every iteration of every alternate universe and I hope you enjoy this take on them!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Kudos, comments, and shares are greatly appreciated! <3
> 
> (Title inspired by [Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OuHxiHnNA3k))

Akaashi Keiji hates his roommate.

He thinks, maybe, this was inevitable. And it’s not necessarily his roommate’s fault.

Keiji is simply the type of person who’s ill-suited for the trials and traumas of trying to co-exist with another human in such a small space. Sharing a dorm room is a personal nightmare of his, one he’s been suffering through for the last two months. He likes his privacy. He likes being alone.

He likes not waking up in the middle of the night to the sounds of said roommate fucking his girlfriend.

Not for the first time, Keiji wakes to the creaking of a mattress and the thumping of a headboard against the wall. He groans and presses his pillow around his head, trying to block it out. Then the breathy moaning starts and he wants to scream. He grabs for his phone on the nightstand and the screen lights up to display the time. It’s nearly 4am. _Surely_ they’ll tire themselves out soon. Right?

Wrong. Several long insufferable minutes pass, and now slurping noises are echoing through the room, and he can’t stand it anymore. He needs to get out of here.

He kicks off his blanket and climbs out of bed, throwing a futile glare at the thin curtain that divides the room in two. Keiji put it up in the first week to create some semblance of privacy, which his shameless roommate apparently has little desire for. He doesn’t bother changing out of his pajama pants and oversized t-shirt, he simply throws on a jacket, grabs his phone and wallet, then shoves his feet into his shoes as he storms out.

He slams the door behind him as hard as he can to match his roommate’s level of consideration. Unfortunately, knowing his roommate, Daishou won’t feel an ounce of guilt. He’ll probably think it’s funny. He might even be doing this on purpose at this point, just to piss Keiji off and rile him up. The first time Keiji awoke in the middle of the night to the sounds of grunting and skin slapping together, he’d waited until morning to politely ask if they could please refrain from having sex while he was in the room, and Daishou had just laughed and suggested investing in earplugs.

So, perhaps Keiji hating roommates in general is a bit unfair, but hating _this_ roommate in particular is absolutely warranted and entirely justified.

The night is relatively cool for June, and if Keiji weren’t dead-tired the ten minute walk to the campus coffeeshop would actually be quite nice. Early Bird doesn’t open to the public for another half hour, but his coworker lets him in anyways.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Konoha greets with a smirk. “What brings you here at this lovely hour?”

Keiji can only respond with a sleepy glare, and Konoha must realize the situation is dire, because his smirk fades and he gestures to the dining area. “Go sit down. I’ll make you something strong.”

Keiji drags himself over to his preferred booth in the corner and slumps down, resting his head on his folded arms. After a few minutes there’s a shuffling sound as Konoha joins him.

“You know, I think you spend more time here off the clock than you do actually working your shifts,” he comments, settling into the seat opposite Keiji. He slides the drink across the table. “Roommate problems again?”

Keiji grunts in acknowledgment and blearily lifts his head to take a sip, wincing at the potency. It tastes like eight shots of pure espresso and the bitterness burns his throat, but he relishes the feeling of caffeine hitting his bloodstream.

“I’m trying to decide if I want to kill him or myself,” he muses, tapping a finger against the edge of the paper cup. “I think him. I’m fairly certain I can make it look like an accident.”

“So, you’re probably joking, but just to be sure—actually, wait, don’t say anything. If I don’t know I won’t have to lie to the police.”

“Does that mean you won’t help me hide the body?”

Konoha snorts. “It’s that bad, huh?”  


“Yes,” Keiji says firmly. “I can’t deal with it anymore. They won’t let me switch dorms—I’ve asked about twice a week since the start of term. And Daishou doesn’t care that I’m miserable. I actually think he gets off on it.”

“Ugh. Well, do you have to stay in the dorms? What about an off-campus apartment?”

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that before,” Keiji deadpans. “Your genius astounds me.”

“Okay smart-ass, I’m trying to help here.”

“I know,” Keiji lets out a breath. “I’m sorry. But I can’t afford something like that, not on my own. And it’s not like I have anyone to room with. It’s June—everyone has their living situation sorted by now.”

“Hey, wait!” Konoha says, perking up a little. “I might actually know someone. His current roommate is dropping out and moving back home, so he’s probably looking for a replacement. He lives in a two bedroom in that complex down the street.”

Keiji tries not to get swept away by hope just yet. “Does he have a girlfriend he likes to fuck all day and night?”

“Not as far as I know. He always says he’s too busy for a relationship.”

“Doing what?” Keiji asks, hoping the answer is _studying_ or _meditating_ but knowing he’s not that lucky.

Konoha hesitates.

“If he’s the type to party and bring home random girls that’s just as bad, you know,” Keiji grumbles.

“No, no, that’s not it. He’s on the volleyball team—here on a sports scholarship, actually—so he keeps pretty busy with practices and games.”

“Oh. Why did you hesitate?”

Konoha shrugs. “I was worried you might judge him for being a dumb jock.”

“Well, of course I will, but that’s not reason enough to automatically decline. Honestly I don’t care what he does in his time away from the apartment, especially if there’s a lot of it.”

“I mean yeah, between class and practice I don’t think he spends much time there.”

“Hmm,” Keiji says, considering. It almost sounds too good to be true. “Is he normal?”

Another hesitation. “He’s… normal enough.” Keiji raises his eyebrows and Konoha goes on. “Okay, he’s kind of a weird one, but not in a bad way, I swear! He’s a good guy. And his apartment is really nice.”

Keiji sighs, closing his eyes. He hopes he’s not going to regret this. “It literally cannot be worse than my current situation, so…”

Even with his eyes shut, Keiji can tell that Konoha is grinning as he says, “I’ll give you his email.”

**From: AkaashiK@TOK.edu**

**To: BokutoK@TOK.edu**

Hello, Bokuto-san. My name is Akaashi Keiji. My friend Konoha-san mentioned you may be seeking a roommate and gave me your email. Is the room still available?

**From: BokutoK@TOK.edu**

**To: AkaashiK@TOK.edu**

hey hey akaashi!!!! yes room is still available!!! do u wanna check it out?? when can you come by??

**From: AkaashiK@TOK.edu**

**To: BokutoK@TOK.edu**

Today, preferably. My last class ends at 2pm, I can come by afterwards if that’s alright?

**From: BokutoK@TOK.edu**

**To: AkaashiK@TOK.edu**

yeah!!! i got practice at 4 so just stop by anytime before then!!! see you later!!!

Keiji stares at his phone as a follow-up message with the address comes in. He already feels exhausted by the sheer number of exclamation marks abused in just two emails, but he takes a deep breath and tells himself this will be fine.

After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akaashi: what's the worst that could happen?  
> me, the author of this fic: ohoho honey, you've got a big storm comin'


	2. First Impressions

As soon as his class lets out, Keiji goes directly to Bokuto’s apartment.

The building is relatively old, but well taken care of. Bokuto’s room is on the fifth floor, which is a downside since there’s no elevator, but it’s certainly not a deal-breaker. Especially when the building is close enough to campus that it’ll only add five minutes to his walk to class. Plus there’s a grocery store right down the street and a large konbini next door, which is definitely a positive.

Keiji tries to focus on the convenience of the konbini’s onigiri stock being oh so close as he trudges up the ten flights of stairs. He’s only slightly winded by the time he makes it to apartment 504. He knocks on the door and a moment later it flies open.

Keiji’s first impression of Bokuto is that he’s _big_ —and not just physically with his height and broad shoulders and well-muscled arms, but also his energy and his smile and his booming voice as he greets, “Hey, hey, hey! You must be Akashi!”

“It’s Akaashi,” he corrects, slipping off his shoes in the genkan. “It’s nice to meet you, Bokuto-san.”

“Come in, come in!” he says brightly. “I’ll show you around!”

The excessive use of exclamation marks makes a lot of sense now that Keiji sees him in person, considering the guy is basically a walking exclamation mark himself. He’s wearing baggy athletic shorts and a tight white t-shirt which makes him look like a stereotypical jock—meaning: aggressively heterosexual and obnoxiously hot. It’s much easier to picture him on the court or doing a keg stand than in a classroom. Thankfully his hair is ridiculous—white streaked with black and styled into gravity-defying spikes—so it prevents him from being overwhelmingly attractive.

Keiji follows as Bokuto leads the way into the apartment and rambles on, seemingly without breathing between sentences. He details the cost of rent and utilities (fortunately within Keiji’s budget) and explains why his former roommate left (unfortunately due to a sick family member). Keiji doesn’t get much of a chance to talk, but that suits him fine and gives him time to look around and assess.

The living room is sparsely furnished with a low dining table surrounded by plush cushions for sitting, a small couch, and a TV on a stand in one corner. The kitchen is quite nice—not very spacious, but there’s enough counter space that it’s not cramped. Keiji strongly prefers to cook his own meals, though he hasn’t been doing that much lately because the community kitchens in the dorm are a hell-zone. His eyes linger on the stove, which looks to be a shiny newer model.

“You like to cook?” Bokuto guesses, and Keiji turns to give him a questioning look. The other boy shrugs, “No reason to check out the kitchen like that if you didn’t intend to use it.”

Keiji gives a slight nod. “I hate the dorm kitchens,” he admits. “They’re always dirty and overcrowded.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that here!” Bokuto says. “I don’t cook much! Well, sometimes breakfast, but for dinner I usually just grab take-out after practice.”

Keiji hums in acknowledgement and follows Bokuto toward the bedrooms.

“That one’s mine,” he says pointing down the hall to a half-open door that reveals a partial view of an unmade bed. “And _this_ one would be yours!” He gestures like he’s presenting a prize on a gameshow then steps out of the way, allowing Keiji to walk inside.

The room is small but bright, with one wide window to let in light. There’s a desk in one corner and a bed in the other, the twin-sized mattress stripped bare. Keiji turns to glance at Bokuto in the doorway. “It’s already furnished?”

“Ah, well, the bed and desk are actually Tatsuki’s,” he explains. “He said he’ll be back for them eventually, but yeah, for now you’re free to use ‘em!”

“I see.” Keiji had been worried he’d have to dip deep into his savings to buy some apartment essentials, so this is honestly better than expected. In fact, aside from Bokuto’s absolute lack of an indoor voice, this all seems pretty much _perfect_.

There’s got to be a catch.

“So, what do you think?” Bokuto asks. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest. Keiji can’t help but notice the way his muscles bulge at the motion, straining the sleeves of his t-shirt. “Any questions?”

Keiji drags his eyes up to Bokuto’s face. “Are you dating anyone?”

“Oh. Um.” Bokuto blinks at him, then looks off to the side. A soft blush rises up his neck as he scratches at the back of his head. “Er. Well, I’m not really—”

Oh _god_. Keiji realizes how Bokuto interpreted his question and briefly wishes for death. “I’m not asking for myself—it’s just—I mean—” he says in a rush, and _great_ , now he’s getting flustered too. This went from perfect to disaster in two seconds flat. He takes a quick calming breath. “My last roommate had his girlfriend over nearly every night. It’s part of what drove me to leave, and I don’t wish to repeat that.”

“Oh!” Bokuto says with a little huff of a laugh. “I thought—”

“I know what you thought. I assure you that is _not_ the situation.”

“Heh, yeah, no I’m not dating anyone.” He waves his hand dismissively, and Keiji is thankful he doesn’t drag out the awkward moment. “I’m waaaay too busy with volleyball for something like that. I, uh, do like to have friends over sometimes, so we could set up rules for guests and stuff, and if you ever want to bring a girl over—”

“I won’t,” Keiji says quickly. Probably a little too quickly. He doesn’t really want to explain that he’s 1) extremely gay 2) very much a virgin 3) too socially awkward to even make friends and 4) focusing entirely on his studies right now. He’s not even sure which part of that is the most embarrassing to admit.

But he can see the question forming in Bokuto’s eyes and he winces preemptively as the other boy asks, “Oh, are you like ace or something?”

Huh. That’s… not the question he was expecting. And there’s no judgement in his tone, just pure curiosity, so Keiji probably doesn’t have to worry about Bokuto being homophobic. He must take too long to reply, though, because before he can formulate a response Bokuto is rambling again.

“Oh jeeze, sorry—that was really personal, wasn’t it? You don’t have to answer! It’s okay if you are! Or if you aren’t! I didn’t mean to offend you or anything, I’m—”

“It’s alright,” Keiji cuts in. “I’m not offended, and I’m not asexual. I simply have no interest in dating at the moment, so it is extremely unlikely I will be bringing anyone home.”

“Ah. Okay. Cool.” He gives a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sometimes I say things without really thinking.”

“So I’ve noticed. But it’s fine. I don’t see it being a problem.”

“Really?” His lips start to stretch into a grin. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“I doubt we’ll be spending enough time together for it to bother me.”

“Oh. Right.” And just as quickly as he perked up, he deflates. This guy’s mood flips like a switch.

Keiji doesn’t know what to make of that, so he continues on like the well-built college student in front of him isn’t pouting like a child denied dessert. “As far as having guests over, that’s fine by me so long as it’s not every day. I would only ask that you let me know ahead of time if possible.”

“I can do that!” Bokuto says. “And yeah, it probably won’t happen too often. Like I said, I’m busy busy busy with volleyball.”

“Right,” Keiji says, and he realizes he’s fidgeting with his fingers so he forces himself to stop before asking, “Then, do you have any questions for me?”

And he’s expecting the standard inquiries about his income, his habits, his schedule.

But all Bokuto asks is, “When can you move in?”

Keiji pauses, considers, makes his decision. “Tomorrow?”

And Bokuto smiles, wide and bright, and for the first time in a long time Keiji feels like things might just turn out alright.


	3. Living Conditions

After working out the details, Keiji leaves Bokuto’s apartment— _his_ new apartment—and goes directly to the administration office. The Residence Director gives him a weary look and seems poised to deliver yet another _no_ to a request to change dorms, so it’s with no small amount of glee that Keiji reveals he’ll be vacating his room and moving off-campus effective immediately.

He’s never been so happy to spend half an hour filling out paperwork.

Packing up all of his belongings takes an absurdly short amount of time. He never truly _settled_ into this room, too anxious and desperate to leave from the beginning. He doesn’t even have pictures or posters to take down from the walls.  He empties his closet and desk, filling up his backpack and a single suitcase. And that’s it. He still has to strip his sheets from the bed and pack up his toiletries, but that will have to wait until morning.

Daishou sneers when he returns later that night and sees Keiji’s side of the room cleared out.

“Still trying to switch dorms? They won’t let you, you know?”

Keiji doesn’t dignify that with a response, he just smirks and goes back to his reading.

It takes only one trip to move everything he owns to his new residence.

Well, everything except the divider curtain. He leaves that behind. He has a feeling Daishou’s next roommate is going to need it. As he exits the dorm for the final time, he sends a brief thought of condolences to whomever ends up stuck with Daishou next.

Bokuto has practice until late in the evening, so Keiji has the whole apartment to himself as he unpacks and settles into his new room. A _private_ room—his very own space where he can finally _blissfully_ be alone.

It’s the most peaceful night of sleep he’s had since starting college.

The first morning in his new apartment, Keiji wakes to the muffled sounds of Bokuto singing in the shower. He’s working himself up to be annoyed when he looks at his phone and realizes it’s only five minutes before his alarm is scheduled to go off. Hmm. Perhaps he won’t have to murder this roommate.

Still, he lounges in bed half-asleep until his alarm rings, then he stretches lazily and gets up. He can hear Bokuto in the kitchen now, and he’s struck with the hopeful thought that there might be _coffee_ out there. He wasn’t allowed to have a coffee maker in his dorm room, and the idea of caffeine first thing in the morning is deliciously tempting.

Keiji wanders out of his room and heads toward the kitchen where he spots Bokuto. The other boy’s hair is damp, hanging down around his face, and he’s shirtless, with droplets of water glistening on his collarbones and sweatpants hanging low on his hips. _Speaking of deliciously tempting_ , Keiji’s brain helpfully supplies as he promptly walks into the wall.

“Oof.” He regains his balance just as Bokuto glances over.

“Oh, hey! Morning, Akaashi! Want some breakfast?” Bokuto is standing at the stove, frying something in a pan, and all Keiji can think is that, somehow, _this_ should not be allowed. Seeing those arms in a tight t-shirt was bad enough, but _this—_ with his shoulders and his chest and his _abs_. Keiji is not awake enough to deal with _this_. Maybe he’s still sleeping. Maybe this is a nightmare.

Or perhaps a wet dream.

Keiji closes his eyes. He is not looking. “Is there coffee?”

“Ah, no, sorry. But I can make you some eggs, if you want?” 

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure? It’s no problem!”

“I’m fine. I usually get something at the campus coffeeshop on my way to class.”

“Oh, okay!” he says, turning off the stove and scraping the eggs from the pan to a plate. “Well, I gotta finish gettin’ ready. I’ve got class all day then afternoon practice, so I won’t be back until later tonight.”

Keiji makes a sound of acknowledgement, keeping his eyes on his fingers fidgeting in front of him. “I suppose I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah, later!” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Bokuto give him a cheery wave as he takes the plate of food and heads off in the direction of his room.

As a reward for not looking, Keiji allows himself to look—just a little!—at Bokuto’s retreating back as he heads off down the hall. Then Keiji swallows a groan and retreats to his own room. He really hopes the next time he sees Bokuto the other boy has a shirt on and his hair is ridiculously spiked again, or else living here is going to involve much more suffering than he’d anticipated.

Not for the first time, Keiji finds himself wondering about the terrible things he must have done in a previous life to deserve such torturous misfortune in this one.

Living with Bokuto is not what Keiji expected.

Mostly because it’s, well, a lot _better_ than he thought it would be. It doesn’t take long for Keiji to learn that Bokuto does not have volume control nor does he have an off-switch, which is sometimes a little grating on Keiji’s poor introvert soul. But aside from that, Bokuto is a very kind and considerate roommate. He never interrupts Keiji when he’s studying. He always cleans up after himself (at least in the common areas; the glimpses of his room Keiji gets from the hallway are a different story altogether). And he at least _tries_ to modulate his volume, even if he is largely unsuccessful.

Over the first few weeks, they learn a little about each other in fleeting conversations. Bokuto’s favorite topic is, naturally, volleyball. Though nothing could have prepared Keiji for Bokuto’s reaction upon learning he used to play in middle school.

“ _You_ played volleyball?! You were a _setter?!_ You played _volleyball_ and you were a _setter?!_ ”

“Yes, Bokuto-san. Now please stop yelling.”

Bokuto seems unsurprised to learn that Keiji is double majoring in Japanese Literature and English.

“I like language,” he explains when Bokuto asks why.

Keiji, on the other hand, _is_ surprised to learn about Bokuto’s major. “Education? I would’ve figured something like sports science.”

“Well, a lot of my electives are from the sports science track,” he admits. “But the plan is to play volleyball professionally! Then when I retire I wanna teach, or coach, or maybe teach _and_ coach. I like kids.”

“You _are_ a kid,” Keiji says without thinking, but before he can worry he offended Bokuto, the other boy is tipping his head back and laughing.

“That must be why I get along with ‘em!”

The way their schedules align, Keiji really only sees Bokuto in the evenings. Once or twice a week Bokuto’s arrival home will coincide with Keiji’s dinner break, so they’ll eat together, Bokuto with whatever take-out he picked up, and Keiji with something simple he whipped together in the kitchen. Bokuto likes to talk, and as long as Keiji isn’t busy studying, he finds he doesn’t mind listening.

But perhaps the best part of living with Bokuto is that after the first morning, Keiji wakes up every day to the smell of coffee permeating the apartment. Because Bokuto—being a kind and considerate roommate—starts making extra coffee in the mornings, so by the time Keiji gets up there’s still enough left in the pot for him to have a cup or two.

It’s because of this that Keiji decides to forgive him for his habit of singing in the shower. Keiji does not, however, forgive him for having an incredibly distracting body. But as long as he keeps his shirt on in the common areas, it shouldn’t be a problem.


	4. Comfort Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Flaws by Bastille](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1E36WU9Wzf4)

July means end-of-term exams, and end-of-term exams mean Keiji replaces sleep with coffee and revising. Even Bokuto is making an effort to study more, and Keiji occasionally finds him in the living room, papers spread out all over the table with the TV playing quietly in the background. (A habit that would _never_ work for Keiji, but Bokuto swears it helps him focus.)

A week before exams, Keiji spends an entire Saturday listening to recorded lectures and going over his color-coded notes. When it starts getting dark out, he figures it’s probably time to break for dinner. He exits his bedroom and finds Bokuto sitting at the table with an open textbook, which isn’t exactly a surprising sight of late.

But it’s different today.

The first thing Keiji notices is the silence. Bokuto is _always_ making noise; if he’s not talking then he’s tapping his foot or cracking his knuckles or fidgeting in place and making his clothes rustle. So it’s not just the quiet that’s strange—it’s also the _stillness_. Bokuto sits there, unmoving, with dull eyes and a dejected expression. He’s not even looking at the book in front of him, he’s just sort of staring off into space.

Something is wrong.

“Bokuto-san?” Keiji tentatively calls out. He gets no response. He has to say his name two more times before Bokuto looks up.

“Oh. Akaashi. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Keiji’s not sure how long he’s been sitting out here. Bokuto is usually just getting home with take-out at this time. Keiji eyes him for a few seconds then asks, “Have you eaten today?”

“Ah, not really. I should probably order something…” he mumbles, though he makes no move to do so.

“Hmm,” Keiji says. Then he turns and walks into the kitchen. He goes to the fridge and starts pulling out ingredients to make yakisoba, one of his easy go-to dinners. After a brief moment of consideration, he grabs an extra pack of noodles, then proceeds to double the rest of the recipe, chopping enough vegetables and preparing enough chicken to make two hearty portions.

Twenty minutes later he settles down at the table with two steaming plates, sliding one of them in front of Bokuto.

“Here.”

Bokuto looks from one plate to the other then up at Keiji. His expression is one of perfect confusion. “For… me?”

“No, I made this for my other roommate,” Keiji deadpans.

“Who—” he starts, blinking his wide eyes and tipping his head to one side in an excellent impression of an owl. “Wait—it _is_ for me!” He barks out a startled laugh. “Akaashi! You gotta change up your expression or something so I know when you’re joking!”

“You figured it out eventually,” Keiji says, trying to hide his amusement.

Bokuto looks down at the food again and his voice is softer when he asks, “This is really for me?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Keiji shrugs. “I was cooking anyways, and you need to eat. You can’t survive on sports drinks and protein bars.”

“Wow! It looks amazing! Thank you for the meal!” he says, clapping his hands together. Then he grabs his chopsticks and dives in, chewing happily with a cry of, “It’s delicious! Aghashee! You’re like a genius chef!”

“It’s a very simple dish,” Keiji says dismissively.

“Still! It’s really good!” Bokuto praises. “Remind me to cook for you sometime. I’m really good, too! Well, I can only make like four dishes, but I make them really good!”

In between bites he goes on to explain in detail the four dishes he can make and Keiji hums politely in acknowledgement when appropriate. He tries not to focus too much on the pleasure he feels at the compliments, or the relief he feels to see Boktuo smiling again.

But the food can only do so much to mend Bokuto’s mood, because halfway through the meal he starts getting quiet again.

Finally, Keiji has to ask. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh? Yeah. I mean, kind of.” He uses his chopsticks to absently move food around on his plate. Keiji waits patiently for him to go on, and eventually he sighs and says, “I did really bad in the practice game this morning. Sometimes I get too worked up and I just…” He shakes his head miserably. “I couldn’t hold it together. Got myself benched halfway through.”

“I see.” 

Now, Keiji is not good at emotions, and he’s _really_ not good at consoling sad people. He’s never been one for sweet empty words, so he takes a chance and offers Bokuto blunt logic instead. 

“So you’ll be quitting the team, then?”

Bokuto lets out a horrified gasp. “What?! No! Of course not! Why would you say that?”

“Well, it seems to me there are two options,” Keiji starts, chewing thoughtfully. “You either quit the team, or you try to do better in the next game.”

“I—well—I guess so,” Bokuto says, eyebrows creased in concentration like he’s trying to come up with a counter argument. “But—ugh! My teammates must be so sick of dealing with me.”

“Perhaps,” Keiji says with a shrug. “But you’re here on a sports scholarship, correct?” When Bokuto nods he goes on. “Then I assume when you’re in top form you are quite good?”

“Well, yeah! I’m the Ace! I’m awesome!” he says, puffing up a little before immediately deflating. “Usually. But—what if I lose it again?”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Not a _lot_ but… sometimes, yeah.”

“Then it’s likely it will happen again,” Keiji says. “Which means you’ll simply have to work through it again.”

Bokuto is quiet for a moment, and his voice is small when he finally questions, “But what if I cant?”

“Has that ever happened?”

He frowns. “Well… no. I always get back on my feet eventually.”

Keiji hums. “I thought so. You don’t seem the type to be easily defeated.”

Bokuto slams a hand down on the table. “I’m not!”

Keiji holds his gaze. “Then you’ll do better next time,” he says firmly. A statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” Bokuto says, nodding as a slow smile stretches across his face. “Yeah, I will!”

They eat in silence for another moment, then Bokuto nudges Keiji’s foot under the table. “Hey,” he says. Keiji looks up. “Thanks, Akaashi.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies with a shrug, dropping his eyes to his food.

“No,” Bokuto says immediately. “It’s not nothing. You’re… really amazing, you know? So, thanks.”

Keiji feels a strange surge of emotion at Bokuto’s words. It makes him incredibly happy to be so openly praised. He manages to keep his expression neutral and respond with a cool, “Ah, sure.”

Bokuto’s lips press together in a pout, but his eyes are still bright so Keiji can tell he’s just being dramatic. “You could sound a little more fired up, you know…”

And Keiji finally allows himself a small smile as he says, “I think you do enough of that for the both of us.”


	5. The Calm and The Storm

Eating dinner together becomes a regular thing.

It starts like this: after the third time Keiji cooks for the both of them, Bokuto announces, “I’m going grocery shopping tomorrow! Make a list of what you want me to get for dinner!”

And Keiji says, “Er, what?”

“If you’re gonna be cooking for both of us, then I’m gonna pay for the food!”

Keiji frowns. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Come on! I want to! Besides, it’s not even really my money, it’s my parents’!”

“That’s worse.”

“No no no—listen! They gave me a credit card allowance but I can _only_ buy food with it, so seriously, it’s fine! Cheaper this way, too! Getting take-out everyday for myself is more expensive than getting groceries for the two of us,” he reasons, and he’s not wrong. Bokuto spends an _offensive_ amount of money on take-out.

Bokuto must realize his argument is starting to work, because he’s grinning as he stretches his leg under the table to nudge at Keiji’s knee. “Come on, you’re already doing all the work of cooking, you shouldn’t have to pay for it, too.”

“I’m not going to cook for you every night,” Keiji warns, even though he probably will. He truly does enjoy it, and if it’s not breaking his own budget there’s really no downside to making double portions.

“That’s fine! I wouldn’t expect that anyways! But like, I really enjoy your cooking, and I feel like the least I can do is pay for our food.”

“Only dinners,” Keiji clarifies. “I won’t let you pay for everything. But… I suppose it’s alright if you buy the food and I cook for us.”

Bokuto raises his fists in a victory cheer. “Yay! So you’ll make me a list?” Instead of making a list, Keiji makes a face. Bokuto laughs. “Orrrrr if you don’t wanna do that, then just come with me!”

And that’s how they end up grocery shopping together.

It goes exactly as Keiji expected. Bokuto uses his endless energy to make shopping a harrowing experience for all the other patrons, while Keiji does his best to reign in the human tornado ripping up and down the aisles.

“We’re not buying that,” he says for the seventh time as Bokuto tries to sneak another unhealthy snack item that’s more chemical than food into their cart. “Put it back,” he instructs, and Bokuto pouts and whines but ultimately complies.

It’s like shopping with an unruly child. Keiji feels as though he’s somehow become the single parent of the world’s largest loudest toddler.

But later, when Bokuto is easily carrying the majority of their shopping bags as he bounds up ten flights of stairs, Keiji can’t help but notice his _arms_ and he’s forced to remember that _oh right_ , Bokuto is not, in fact, a toddler; and is, in fact, obnoxiously hot. Keiji can’t decide if this makes him more annoyed or less.

So they fall into a new routine, one that involves weekly grocery store trips and eating dinner together nearly every night. Most nights Keiji does the cooking, but on the rare day Bokuto doesn’t have practice, he’ll take over and cook one of the four meals he knows how to make.

And Keiji does _not_ admit that Bokuto is actually a fantastic cook, but he does always clear his plate and go for seconds if there’s extra, which Bokuto definitely notices.

“So? Didja like it?” Bokuto asks eagerly every time. “It was really good, right?”

“Yes, Bokuto-san. And you didn’t overcook the broccoli this time.”

“Aghasheee! That only happened once!”

Keiji finds himself shifting his study schedule so he’s mostly finished by the time Bokuto gets home. This is only because Bokuto is too loud and Keiji would be too distracted to get any work done after that point anyways. It’s not at all because he likes to linger after dinner, talking and spending time with his friend.

And they _are_ friends. Keiji’s not entirely sure when it happened, but it did. Somehow, it just _works_. Somehow, Keiji’s calm balances out Bokuto’s storm.

The term ends, and summer break begins. For Keiji, August means summer classes and extra shifts at Early Bird. For Bokuto, August means leaving for two weeks of intensive volleyball training camp.

And Keiji enjoys having the whole apartment to himself. Really. He does. It’s just… it’s so damn _quiet_ with Bokuto gone.

In late August, halfway through the second week of Bokuto’s training camp, the silence starts to feel grating. It presses on Keiji’s ears and prickles his skin, so he packs up his laptop and walks down to Early Bird to get some studying done there.

Konoha is at the front counter when Keiji walks in. His eyebrows crease together in concern, but all he says is, “The usual?”

Keiji gives him a nod of acknowledgement. If he can’t make his drink himself, Konoha is the only one he trusts to do it right. (All the other baristas have too many reservations about giving Keiji the number of espresso shots he desires.)

His favored booth is empty, so Keiji claims it and settles in, pulling out his laptop and his half-written English essay. A couple minutes later, Konoha brings the drink out to him. Then he leans his hip against the table, arms folded over his chest as he hesitantly asks, “Roommate problems?”

“Hmm?” Keiji says, lifting the cup to take a sip. The harsh burn of espresso sears his throat—it’s perfect. “No. Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re _here_ , and you have that face like you’re suffering.”

“I’m a double major, Konoha-san. I’m always suffering.”

“Yeah, but… you’re _here_ on your time off. You haven’t done that since Daishou.”

Keiji frowns when he realizes Konoha is right. He tries not to sound overly defensive as he says, “What, I can’t come here to relax and enjoy the atmosphere?”

There’s a poorly timed bang and a yelp from behind the counter as Hinata does something that makes the espresso machine hiss in protest and Tsukishima grumble in complaint. A cloud of steam rises over the drink station.

“Oi!” Konoha calls. “Hinata, you know you’re not allowed to touch that!”

“S-sorry, boss!” Hinata calls.

“I’ll fix it,” Tsukishima says. “Move, idiot.”

Konoha sighs at them, then turns back to Keiji. “So?”

“So, what? I’m just here to study,” Keiji says, shifting his eyes down to his laptop so he doesn’t have to meet Konoha’s scrutinizing stare. “There’s no roommate problem. Bokuto-san isn’t even home at the moment. He’s at training camp.”

Konoha tips his head to the side. “I thought that was over? Hinata’s back already…”

“The starters go for two weeks instead of one.”

“Ah. Well. It’s going alright, then?" Konoha asks. "Living with him, I mean.”

“I suppose. It’s a bit like living with a hurricane, but,” Keiji lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “It could be worse.”

Konoha nods. “Good to hear. Honestly, I was a little worried you two wouldn’t get along. He’s, uh, kind of a lot to deal with.”

“Yes, he is,” Keiji agrees. “But he’s not that bad.”

Behind the counter, Hinata and Tsukishima start bickering loudly. Konoha lets out a disgruntled sigh. “Duty calls,” he says to Keiji, then he makes his way back over to them with a yell of, “Hey! You two quit squawking and get back to work!”

In the steady din of the coffeeshop, Keiji is finally able to get some real studying done. There’s something strangely comforting about Hinata in the background chattering excitedly about volleyball.

It’s late when Keiji trudges back to the uncomfortably quiet apartment. He glances at their shared calendar taped to the fridge; four more days until training camp ends.

Though it’s not like he _misses_ having Bokuto around or anything. Certainly not. Not even a little bit.

Still, the day before his return, Keiji finds himself in the grocery store, picking up the ingredients to make Bokuto’s favorite dinner for his first night back.

The next evening, Keiji is nearly done cooking when there’s a loud bang as the front door flies open. Instead of cringing at the noise, Keiji smiles, but only because Bokuto is still struggling with his shoes in the genkan and can’t see.

“I’m hooooome!” he calls in his booming voice as he makes his way down the hall.

“Welcome home,” Keiji murmurs.

“Kaaasheee!” he exclaims as he comes into view of the kitchen. “Wow, it smells great in here! Didja miss me?”

“No,” Keiji replies immediately. “It was quite peaceful with you gone.”

“Aghaassheee!” Bokuto whines, and Keiji has to duck his head to hide another smile.

“Go put your bag down and wash up,” he instructs. He forces his expression blank and glances at Bokuto hovering in the hallway. “I made yakiniku for dinner.”

At that Bokuto perks up, a knowing glint in his eyes. Keiji can practically see the accusation _you_ did _miss me!_ on the edge of his lips, but he manages to keep it in. Probably because he knows if he said it Keiji would withhold dinner out of spite.

Ten minutes later, they settle down at the table to eat together, and Keiji feels more at peace listening to Bokuto’s exuberant recap of training camp than he did over the entire two weeks of quiet.


	6. Change Your Mind

August bleeds into September; the new term begins, and their dinner routine resumes like it never stopped.

It takes a few days, but eventually Bokuto exhausts his many stories of training camp and takes to pestering Keiji for details about what _he_ did while Bokuto was gone.

“Summer classes,” Keiji says with a shrug. “Work.”

“Come on, you had to do more than that! You had the apartment all to yourself for two weeks! Tell me you did something fun! Did you throw a party?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Bring any girls home?”

Keiji grimaces. “As I mentioned before, there is a zero percent chance I will ever bring a girl home.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t know that!” Bokuto argues. “You could meet someone when you least expect it! Haven’t you ever seen a romantic comedy?”

Keiji grits his teeth and stabs a piece of broccoli with his chopsticks. He’s not exactly in the closet; he doesn’t make any special effort to keep his sexuality a secret. But he really does hate having to come out again and again to every new person he lets into his life. He’s avoided talking about this with Bokuto thus far only because it hasn’t come up naturally in conversation. But here it is. An opportunity. And it’s probably time to get this over with, because if they’re going to be friends, Bokuto should know this about him.

He takes a moment to focus on his food, mindlessly stirring as he works himself up to say, “Even in the very improbable case of that happening, there is still a zero percent chance it would be a girl.”

There’s a beat of silence. Keiji finally looks up to see Bokuto wearing a knowing smile. “You know, I kinda thought that might be the case,” he says, because he has no filter between his brain and his mouth. “You’re too pretty to be straight.”

Keiji isn’t sure if that’s supposed to be a compliment but he feels himself blushing regardless. “I take it my sexuality won’t be an issue for you?”

“Um, no?” he says, tilting his head to one side. “Why would it be? You can bring a guy home if you want!”

Keiji sighs, equal parts relieved and frustrated. “Again, that is extremely unlikely. I’ve never even kissed someone before so I imagine it would be quite a long time before it escalates to that point.”

Bokuto’s chopsticks clatter against his plate as he suddenly drops them to stare openly at Keiji. “You’ve never kissed anyone?” he says, voice colored with shock. “Kaashi! How do you know you’re gay if you’ve never even kissed another guy!?”

Keiji frowns. It’s not the first time he’s gotten a question like this, but at least coming from Bokuto it doesn’t sound patronizing or derisive. As usual, he sounds genuinely curious, so Keiji reigns in his instinct to reply with biting sarcasm. “Probably the same way you know you’re straight. I just… know.”

“Oh, uh,” Bokuto says, scratching at the back of his head. “I’m… not straight though.”

Keiji’s grip tightens on his chopsticks. It’s a miracle they don’t snap in half. “You’re gay?”

“I mean, if you’re using that as an umbrella term, then yeah, sure. I really just like who I like! So probably bisexual or pansexual is more accurate?” He shrugs. “I don’t really care about labels.”

“Oh,” is all Keiji can say. His brain is whirling as he attempts to process this information, to recalibrate his idea of who exactly Bokuto Koutarou is. A part of him is strangely thrilled about this revelation, but another part of him is… he doesn’t even know. It’s just. This knowledge feels dangerous somehow.

“Anyways, I can’t believe you’ve never kissed anyone! Have you seen yourself? I bet tons of people have wanted to kiss you!”

This conversation feels dangerous too, but Keiji can’t seem to stop. “I doubt that,” he says, holding back another blush through sheer force of will. “At least in any way beyond purely superficial reasons. I don’t really… get along with people. I tend to be too mean and too cold.”

Bokuto laughs. “Well anyone who thinks that clearly doesn’t know you!”

Keiji frowns at him. “Everyone thinks that.”

“But you’re not!” he argues. “Well, maybe you’re kinda mean, but you’re not mean in a _mean_ way, if you know what I mean?”

“I do not.”

“You’re not— _cruel_ , you’re just kinda… honest?” Bokuto explains. “Like, you don’t tolerate bullshit, or sugarcoat things and fake bein nice, like most people do. It’s… I dunno, kinda refreshing. I don’t hafta worry that you’re saying mean things about me behind my back, ‘cause you’d just tell me to my face, wouldn’t you?”

“Most likely, yes,” Keiji concedes.

Bokuto shovels another bite of food into his mouth then gestures with his chopsticks. “I like that about you. I mean, I guess I get why some people wouldn’t. But I’d rather have someone tell me that I’m annoying them instead of actin like they like me just to talk shit when I’m not around.”

“Does that happen often?”

Bokuto lets loose a short laugh, but the smile plastered on his face doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you know the answer to that.”

Keiji feels an irrational rush of fury toward everyone who has ever made Bokuto feel less than. “Most people are assholes,” he says through a scowl. Then he shrugs and adds, “Myself included. I simply don’t feel the need to pretend otherwise.”

“See, that’s what I’m saying!” Bokuto exclaims. “You’re such an asshole that it like circles back around to bein nice!”

“I’m certain that’s not how it works. And I doubt anyone would describe me as _nice_.”

“I would,” he says earnestly, and Keiji glares at him, which only makes Bokuto grin. “Kaashi, you make me dinner like every night. That’s _really_ nice.”

“You pay for the food,” he grumbles defensively. “And it’s only because I’m cooking anyways. It would be rude not to.”

Bokuto snorts. “Sure. If you say so.”

“Perhaps I’ll stop then,” he threatens.

“No! Wait!” Bokuto says, pulling his plate closer like Keiji might dive across the table to confiscate it. “I take it back! You’re super mean! The meanest!”

Keiji works very hard not to laugh into his food.

They eat in companionable silence for another minute, and then Bokuto shatters the peace. This is unsurprising in itself, but the question nearly makes Keiji choke.

“Have you ever wanted to kiss anyone?”

It takes a moment for Keiji to process and realize Bokuto has looped back to an earlier part of the conversation. Keiji stares at him, vetting his tone and expression for derisiveness or mockery. But again, as always, Bokuto doesn’t appear to be looking for ammunition to attack. He seems genuinely curious, so Keiji decides to respond honestly.

“Yes,” he admits. “It’s something I’d like to experience. But as I’ve said before, I have zero interest in pursuing it at the moment. I don’t have time for a relationship, and the idea of going to a club or using an app to find a casual hookup is largely unappealing.”

“What about a friend?”

And Keiji doesn’t want to admit that if he’s being generous he has maybe two and a half friends, so he just says, “No.”

And Bokuto nods and takes another bite of food, and Keiji thinks that’s the end of that. Until his ridiculous roommate opens his ridiculous mouth yet again.

“Well, if you change your mind…”

Keiji’s breath catches in his lungs. “Excuse me?” He can’t possibly mean…

“I would kiss you,” Bokuto offers casually. “If you want.”

“No,” Keiji says immediately, and it sounds harsh even for him, so he tries to soften it with an added, “No, thank you.”

“Ugh, sorry—I didn’t mean to make it weird! I’m not, like, hitting on you or anything, I swear!” Bokuto stammers quickly, building up to a full on ramble. “It’s just—we’re friends! And I really like kissing! So I thought—well, that’s how I learned anyways, and how I figured out I wasn’t straight, from practicing with friends. ‘Cause it’s not as awkward if you’re comfortable with the person, you know? But, yeah. Never mind. Just, ah, forget I said anything.”

“Gladly.”

He doesn’t forget. Keiji lies awake that night staring at his ceiling while Bokuto’s words echo in his head.

_Well, if you change your mind…_

Does he want to kiss Bokuto?

No. Definitely not.

Well.

Maybe he’s a little curious.

_I would kiss you._

He’s never been presented with an opportunity like this before, where someone he found attractive so blatantly offered, where he wouldn’t have to expend any effort, or act like someone he wasn’t, or worry that he was giving false expectations of reciprocated feelings.

_If you want._

It’s a bad idea. Very very extremely bad. There are endless ways it could go wrong and create problems. If Keiji proceeds any further down this path there’s a strong probability he’ll end up in a _very_ awkward living situation and then he’ll have to move— _again_. Honestly, just entertaining the thought is dangerous enough to cause trouble.

_Well, if you change your mind…_

Fuck.


	7. Coffee and Vodka

“Hey, so,” Bokuto says over dinner one night in mid-September. “I was thinking of having a few friends over on Saturday. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Keiji replies slowly. “I’m not your parent, Bokuto-san. You don’t need my permission to have friends over. This is your apartment.”

“Yeah, but it’s your apartment, too! And I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything!”

Keiji almost smiles, but he holds it back thanks to years of practice. “That’s very considerate of you. But please, go ahead. Invite your friends over. Just let me know what time they’ll be arriving and I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

“No!” Bokuto says quickly. “I mean—you don’t have to stay away! You should meet them—hang out with us!”

“Ah, no, I don’t think so. I have a lot of homework,” Keiji says, looking down so he doesn’t have to see how Bokuto’s shoulders slump at his rejection. “But I do appreciate the invitation,” he adds softly.

“Oh. Alright. Well, if you change your mind…” he says, and Keiji finds himself fighting a blush, because those same words have been echoing in his head for the last week and a half. “You can totally join us, okay?”

“I’ll think about it,” Keiji says, feeling slightly guilty when Bokuto smiles at that, because while Keiji certainly will think about it, he knows his answer won’t change.

Bokuto’s friends are scheduled to arrive at 7pm, so at 6:30, Keiji packs up his laptop and goes to Early Bird to camp out for the evening. He doesn’t really have that much homework, but he may as well get ahead. He busies himself with next week’s assignments and manages to keep occupied until 10 when Early Bird closes and Tsukishima kicks him out so he can clean and lock up in peace.

Keiji trudges home with the flimsy hope that Bokuto’s friends will be gone by now, but no such luck. Even standing outside the apartment door he can hear muffled voices and Bokuto’s booming laugh.

He quietly lets himself in, intending to sneak unnoticed to his room, but Bokuto is immediately shouting, “Kaaaashi! Welcome home!”

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” he replies, not pausing as he continues down the hall.

“Hey, wait!” Bokuto scrambles to his feet and catches up just as Keiji makes it to his room. “Do you, uh.” He shifts in place like he has too much energy to be still. “Do you wanna maybe come play some games with us?”

Keiji hesitates, fiddling with his fingers. “No, I shouldn’t…”

“Oh, okay,” Bokuto’s smile drops, and Keiji feels a sudden urge to change his answer.

Just then, another voice calls out from the living room, “Aw, come on, you’re gonna say no to the birthday boy?”

Keiji’s brows crease together in a frown. “It’s your birthday?” he asks quietly so only Bokuto can hear. “You never mentioned that.”

“Ah, yeah, I didn’t wanna make a big deal about it…”

Keiji stares at him for another moment then sighs and puts his bag down inside his room. He turns back to Bokuto. “Alright. What are we playing?”

Bokuto instantly brightens. “Hey, hey, hey! Kaashi’s gonna join us!” he cheers as he leads Keiji out to the living room. There are three other guys sitting around the table, and a fourth sitting on the couch playing a Nintendo Switch.

“Am I mistaken,” Keiji starts when he sees the empty vodka bottle lying on its side in the middle of the table. “Or have I walked in on a group of grown men playing spin the bottle?”

“It’s not spin the bottle!” Bokuto says quickly, cheeks turning pink. “I mean, we’re spinning a bottle, but it’s Truth or Dare!”

“Ah. A group of grown men playing Truth or Dare. That’s much better.”

“Hey, no teasing! It’s my birthday!”

“You said you didn’t want to make a big deal about it.”

“I changed my mind! Now, lemme make you a drink!” he says, grabbing Keiji’s wrist and pulling him into the kitchen. “We only have vodka—you probably want it with cranberry juice instead of soda, right?” he asks, holding up the two options. Keiji nods, slightly surprised that Bokuto was able to correctly guess his preference.

As Bokuto prepares the drink, he gives some quick introductions, putting faces to names Keiji has heard before in Bokuto’s many stories.

First there’s Oikawa and Iwaizumi. “They’re on the volleyball team with me!” Bokuto says. “They act like they hate each other, but they’ve been in love for, like, ever!” Iwaizumi makes a face like he’s disturbed by this news while Oikawa grins, waving his fingers at Keiji.

“And that’s my best bro Kuroo!” Bokuto gestures to a guy with sharp assessing eyes and absurdly messy hair. Keiji wonders briefly if Bokuto and Kuroo initially bonded over having ridiculous hairstyles. “His boyfriend is coming by in a little bit too when he gets off work!”

“So nice to finally meet the infamous roommate,” Kuroo says with a sly smile. He seems to be waiting for a reaction, so Keiji keeps his face carefully blank.

“Then there’s Kenma, Kuroo’s roommate!” Bokuto motions to the boy sitting on the couch. “He won’t play Truth or Dare with us, but he kicked all of our asses at Mario Kart earlier! He’s a second-year too, and he talks even less than you!” The blonde boy momentarily glances up from his Switch to look at Keiji. They share a brief nod of introvert solidarity.

Drink in hand, Keiji settles down at the table in his usual seat, across from Bokuto. He notices a row of four full shot glasses decorated with volleyballs and net patterns and phrases like _Nice Kill!_ and _Spike This!_

“What’s with those?” Keiji asks.

“Penalty shots,” Oikawa explains. “You can switch from truth to dare or vice versa if it’s something you don’t wanna do, but you have to take an extra shot!”

“Also, you gotta drink one to start,” Kuroo says, sliding the _Nice Kill!_ shot glass toward Keiji.

He narrows his eyes at it. “Why?”

“To catch up with all of us, of course. It’ll be more fun this way,” Kuroo says, placing his hand over his heart as he adds, “Trust me.”

“You don’t look like the sort of person I’d easily trust,” Keiji says, but he takes the shot anyways, wincing and sipping his vodka cranberry as a chaser.

It’s been a while since Keiji has had alcohol—not since his high school graduation a year and a half ago when his classmates dragged him to an afterparty. But he is very ahead with homework now, and his shift at Early Bird isn’t until noon tomorrow, and Bokuto looks so _excited_ that Keiji is joining in, so. It should be fine, just for tonight.

The game resumes with Oikawa’s spin, and much to Keiji’s dismay, the bottle immediately lands on him. “Truth,” he says. He has zero qualms about being bluntly honest; he’s not intending to accept any dares tonight.

“Hmm,” Oikawa says, tapping his chin. “I don’t know anything about you! This is hard.” Then his eyes shift over to Bokuto, and his expression lights up. “Oh, I know! What’s the worst part of having Bokkun for a roommate?”

“Hey!” Bokuto protests, and Oikawa grins.

“He’s distracting,” Keiji easily answers, remembering that first morning when the sight of him without a shirt caused Keiji to walk into a wall. Then he clears his throat and clarifies, “He’s very loud. I’m sure our neighbors would concur.”

“AGHAASH—” Bokuto starts, loudly. Then he clamps his mouth shut and whispers, “Sorry.”

Keiji shrugs. “It doesn’t actually bother me much,” he reassures. “You’re a good roommate, Bokuto-san.”

“Really?” he says, lips stretching into a smile, because the barest amount of praise is all it takes to improve his mood. “Better than your last one?”

“ _God_ yes. _Fuck_ Daishou.”

Kuroo perks up at the name. “Daishou Suguru?”

Keiji gives him a wary look. “You know him?”

“Unfortunately,” he says through a scowl. “If I could get away with punching three people in the face, I would choose him three times.”

Keiji hums. “You just went up a notch in my book, Kuroo-san.” He holds up his cup like he’s toasting. “That puts you at notch one.”

Everyone laughs—even Kuroo—and Keiji relaxes. He decides that maybe Bokuto’s friends aren’t so bad after all.

Keiji’s first spin lands on Kuroo, so he dares him to eat some questionable leftovers from their fridge. He does so without complaint and with compliments to the chef. Next up Kuroo dares Iwaizumi to give a lap dance to Kenma, who shoots a withering death glare to Kuroo then doesn’t look up from his Switch the entire time Iwaizumi is gyrating above him.

After his under-appreciated performance, Iwaizumi gets Bokuto to share an embarrassing story involving a banana and a sauna, which Keiji has actually already heard. (You don’t really _need_ a game like this to get Bokuto to reveal secrets—you just need to get him talking.)

Bokuto then dares Kuroo to go door to door asking their neighbors for a single egg until he manages to get one. “If anyone asks, you have no association with apartment 504,” Keiji warns as Kuroo exits with a salute. He returns seven minutes later holding an egg in triumph.

For the next round Oikawa chooses truth and proceeds to share waaaaaay too much information about his first sexual experience. Everyone is begging him to stop by the end of it, but he insists on ‘telling the whole truth, and nothing but the truth’.

“I have to, Iwa-chan! For the sanctity of the game! Now let _go_! You’re _choking_ me—and not in a fun way!”

“ _Shittykawa_ , I swear to god—”

The room is loud with laughter and squeals, so when there’s a knock at the front door Keiji’s first panicked thought is that a neighbor is here to complain about the noise. He silences everyone with a stern look and gets up to take care of it.

When he comes face-to-face with the person on the other side, he’s not sure which of them is more surprised.

“Tsukishima-kun?” Keiji asks, wondering briefly if there’s been some kind of emergency at work.

“I… didn’t expect you to be here,” Tsukishima says, shifting uncomfortably.

“I live here.”

His eyes widen behind his glasses. “ _You’re_ Bokuto-san’s roommate?” he says at the same time Keiji pieces it together.

“ _You’re_ Kuroo-san’s boyfriend?”

“Tsukki!! Is that youuu?” Kuroo calls from the living room.

Tsukishima grabs Keiji’s wrist. “Kill me. Do it quick.”

“And leave me to suffer them alone? I don’t think so.”

Tsukishima scowls but kicks off his shoes and follows Keiji into the living room. Keiji returns to his spot while Tsukishima settles down next to Kuroo.

“Babe! How was work?” Kuroo asks, looping an arm around his neck and placing a sloppy kiss to his cheek.

“I have to quit tomorrow,” Tsukishima says, blushing scarlet as his eyes flash to Keiji.

And Keiji has definitely had too much to drink because he snorts and quickly raises a hand to cover his laugh.

Bokuto looks between them for a moment then asks, “Kaashi! Do you know Tsukki?”

“We work together at Early Bird,” Keiji explains. “Though I didn’t know he was dating Kuroo-san.”

“And that’s why I have to quit,” Tsukishima grumbles.

“Noooo, you can’t quit!” Kuroo wails, leaning heavily against his boyfriend. “I can’t live without your employee discount!”

“Then die,” Tsukishima suggests, but Keiji notices that their pinkies are linked together, hands half hidden under the table.

When the game resumes, it’s Oikawa’s turn to dare Bokuto, so he gets up to poke through the fridge for inspiration.

“A-ha!” Oikawa cheers after a minute. “This must be Aka-chan’s!” It takes Keiji a few seconds to realize that horrifying nickname is directed at him. Oikawa returns to the living room, slapping a can on the table in front of Bokuto. “Drink up, Bokkun!”

Keiji leans over to catch a glimpse of the label—it’s one of the canned espresso drinks he buys in bulk from the konbini downstairs. “What kind of dare is that?” he finds himself asking.

Oikawa lets out a wicked little cackle. “Bokkun _hates_ coffee.”

“You do?” Keiji asks, looking up at him curiously.

“Ah, yeah,” he says with a grimace. “Too bitter, and it makes me all jittery.”

“I see,” Keiji says, frowning as it suddenly dawns on him that Bokuto doesn’t make _extra_ coffee every morning—he’s been making it entirely for Keiji. Did he even own a coffee maker before Keiji moved in?

And Bokuto must realize what he’s thinking because he suddenly squawks, “It’s not a big deal!” Which only kind of makes sense in the context of the spoken conversation. He looks down, busying himself with opening the can. “I’ll, uh, buy you a replacement.”

“That’s not necessary,” Keiji murmurs. And then he adds, “But thank you. I… appreciate it.” Which also only kind of makes sense in the context of the spoken conversation, but when Bokuto smiles, Keiji figures he understands what’s really being said.

“Well. Bottoms up!” Bokuto raises the can like he’s toasting, then he knocks his head back and downs the drink in five large gulps as Oikawa claps and chants _chug chug chug!_

“Bleh!” He makes a face when he finishes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He gives Keiji a pained look. “Why do you drink this stuff?”

“I’m taking 20 credits,” Keiji offers by way of explanation.

The game continues with Oikawa being dared to style his hair like Bokuto’s, which takes an _obscene_ amount of gel and sends everyone into a fit of giggles when the final result is revealed. They have to take a break from the game so Oikawa and Bokuto can take a dozen selfies together to memorialize the moment.

When they pick things up again, Tsukishima is dared to rap along to a popular song, but he’s so shockingly good at it everyone ends up kind of awestruck and his turn ends with a round of applause. Next up Kuroo reveals the story of the first time he confessed to someone in junior high, which is equal parts endearing and embarrassing.

And then the bottle lands on Keiji.

“Truth,” he says easily.

“ _Again_ ,” Oikawa grumbles, but Kuroo smirks like that’s exactly what he wanted Keiji to say.

“Who do you think is the most attractive person in this room?”

Well, there’s a question that could cause more trouble than it’s worth. Keiji considers for a moment then decides a dare can’t possibly be more humiliating than revealing his honest answer. He grabs one of the penalty shots and swallows it down with a grimace.

“Dare,” he says, setting the empty glass back on the table with a dull clink.

Kuroo looks absolutely delighted at this turn of events. “Fine. I _dare_ you to kiss the person you think is the most attractive.”

Oikawa lets out an amused squeal as Keiji scowls, but before he can protest, Bokuto is sputtering to his defense. “That’s not cool, man, give him a different one! That’s, like, bad sportsmanship or something!”

“What, it’s a pretty mild dare. It’s just a kiss.” He turns to Keiji with a devious smirk. “But I can come up with something else if you’re gonna wuss out?”

“Bro, that’s not—” Bokuto starts, but Keiji interrupts.

“It’s fine,” he says sharply.

And he knows he could walk away from this, call it a night and retreat to his room. He’s not one to be pressured into things, and he truly has nothing to prove to these people.

But there’s a part of him that says, _do it_ , like a challenge, because he’s not about to let someone with hair that ridiculous get the better of him.

And there’s another part of him that says, _do it_ , like a plea, for reasons unnamed.

He looks around the circle for a moment, carefully assessing. Objectively speaking they’re all quite attractive. He could justify choosing any of them. He weighs his options, considers the consequences.

Who would be the safest choice? Who would be the riskiest?

Of course the answer to both of those questions is the same person. And of course that’s the only one Keiji could choose. Considering the others was nothing but pretense; his mind had been made up the moment the dare left Kuroo’s lips.

He starts crawling around the circle, pausing briefly to glare at Kuroo, whose eyes widen slightly in panic. Now that’s interesting.

“You look nervous, Kuroo-san,” Keiji says, stopping in front of him.

“I—it’s just— _me_?” he stammers, eyes darting from Keiji to Tsukishima, who is positively _grinning_ at his boyfriend’s discomfort.

Keiji lets Kuroo suffer for a few more seconds before saying, “Of course not—the dare was to kiss the most attractive person,” and continuing around him as he chokes on an affronted protest.

Keiji finally stops at his destination, putting his hands on Bokuto’s shoulders and turning him so they’re facing each other. Bokuto’s brows lift in surprise and Keiji is grateful his fingers aren’t shaking and exposing his nerves. He swallows and looks into Bokuto’s eyes. They really are a _remarkable_ shade of gold, like honey lit with the morning sun.

“May I?” he asks softly.

“Uh, I mean, yeah, but—Kaashi, are you sure? It’s your—”

“Please stop talking.”

“I just—”

It turns out kissing is a _very_ effective way to get Bokuto to shut the fuck up. The others at the table start cheering and whistling as their lips press together. Bokuto’s mouth is warm, and soft, and he tastes faintly of coffee and vodka. For a second, the other man is frozen still. Then tentatively his lips start moving, pushing, parting. Keiji’s stomach flips and he suddenly breaks the kiss, pulling back but not completely away.

“Hmm.” He stares at Bokuto, assessing, his lips tingling as he catches his breath.

“S-sorry,” Bokuto stammers, cheeks flushed.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like I should?”

Keiji huffs, an almost-laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

Bokuto still looks worried so Keiji gives his shoulder a reassuring pat as if to say, _It’s okay, we’re alright_. Then he returns to his place on the other side of the table.

The game resumes, though Keiji is hardly paying attention anymore. His head is buzzing from that last shot of vodka; his lips are still tingling and they feel— _strange_. Empty. He’s not sure what to do about that.

But it’s not long before the bottle is once again pointing at him.

“Truth or dare?” Tsukishima asks with a devilish smirk, a perfect echo of Kuroo’s. What a nightmare couple.

Keiji meets his eyes for a moment, a silent showdown where they seem to come to the agreement: _We shall never ever speak of this night with anyone else at work._

“Truth,” Keiji says. And honestly, he should’ve expected the question.

“How was kissing Bokuto-san?”

_Disappointing_ , is the first word that comes to mind, but Keiji’s not quite sure why, because that seems overly harsh, and it certainly wasn’t unpleasant. 

“It was… fine,” he says blandly.

The others start laughing and jeering; Kuroo cackles and elbows Bokuto, who pouts a little as his cheeks flush pink.

Keiji narrows his eyes at no one in particular. “I don’t know why you’re all reacting like this,” he says, feeling weirdly defensive. “What did you expect me to say? It lasted barely two seconds.”

“Ohoho you sound disappointed,” Kuroo leers. “Did you want it to last longer?”

Huh. Keiji frowns as he processes the question. That’s it, isn’t it? The root of his disappointment.

And they’re all waiting for an answer, so he says, “Not particularly.”

But he means, _Not like this, not in front of everyone_.

Then he shrugs like he’s not having an internal crisis and reaches for the bottle. “My spin.”


	8. Quick Study

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Make Out by Julia Nunes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zwe0mB8XlCQ)

Keiji wakes up to a dull headache and a steaming pot of coffee waiting for him in the kitchen. Beside the coffee maker is a glass of water and a couple painkillers sitting on a post-it note that reads _TAKE THESE!!!!!_ in Bokuto’s messy scrawl.

He stares at it for a moment, and thinks of warm lips pushing hesitantly against his own. Then he swallows the pills, gulping down the cool water, and pulls out his phone to message Konoha.

**[Akaashi]** I need you to talk me down from doing something stupid.

**[Konoha]** ur not planning to murder another roommate are u?

**[Akaashi]** No. Quite the opposite.

**[Konoha]** …the fuck does that mean?

**[Akaashi]** Bokuto-san has offered to teach me how to kiss.

A gray bubble pops up, indicating that Konoha is typing, but after a second it disappears. And suddenly Keiji’s phone is ringing.

“Konoha-san,” he says by way of hello, and he’s greeted with no less than thirty seconds of hysterical laughter. Keiji scowls. “This isn’t funny.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” comes the wheezing response. “This is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me, oh my _god_.”

“Konoha-san, I’m being serious.” 

“I know! That’s what makes it so hilarious!” 

“Konoha-san, _please_.”

It takes entirely too long for Konoha to compose himself. Once he does, the first thing he says is, “Do you wanna know what he said to me after you guys first met?”

“No,” Keiji says immediately. Fortunately Konoha knows this is a lie.

“He said, and I quote, _‘Dude, he’s like the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in real life and I don’t know if I should punch you or thank you for doing this to me._ ’”

Keiji feels himself blushing. “You’re supposed to be talking me out of this,” he says insistently. “Tell me all the reasons this is a bad idea.”

“Pffft. You don’t need me to do that. You already know. Probably have a fuckin itemized list all about it. No, what you really want is for me to give you permission.”

Annoyance bubbles in Keiji’s chest. “That’s not—”

“Akaashi. Listen. I honestly think it’d be good for you,” Konoha goes on. “And sure, things might get awkward ‘cause you live together and all, but you can deal with that when it happens. You’ve never dated anyone before—never even shown interest in dating someone. So yeah, I think you should go for it.”

“I’m not going to _date_ him,” Keiji says, feeling flustered and fighting to not let it show in his tone. “It’s not like that. It would be—purely physical. An experimentation based on mutual attraction and convenience.”

“Uh-huh,” Konoha says, and he sounds so unconvinced that Keiji opens his mouth to reply with a _very_ convincing rant before he second guesses himself. Would getting worked up and defensive just prove Konoha’s point and give him more fuel to tease?

Keiji grits his teeth. “I am never asking you for advice again.”

“Sure, sure. Have fun with the kissing lessons, Loverboy.”

“Fuck you, Konoha-san.”

A peal of laughter sounds through the phone in the seconds before Keiji hits the END CALL button.

He stares at the pot of coffee again for a moment before pouring himself a cup and retreating back to his room to get ready for the day.

That night at dinner, Keiji can’t stop staring at Bokuto’s mouth. He’s been turning over the idea of kissing him all day, considering and evaluating and trying to decide if this is truly something he wants to do without the haze of alcohol clouding his judgement. And now, as he watches Bokuto’s lips stretch into smiles and move as he talks, all Keiji can think about is how badly he wants that mouth pressed against his own.

So, okay, yes. As it turns out, he does want to kiss Bokuto. Like, a lot.

And then those lips that he can’t stop looking at are shaping around his name. “Akaashi!” Bokuto says, and Keiji snaps to attention, jolting his eyes up to meet Bokuto’s gaze. “Are you even listening to me?”

“No,” Keiji confesses, turning his focus down to his food. 

“Aghaashee!” Bokuto whines. “Pay more attention to me! I was telling you a really good story about volleyball!” When Keiji looks up again Bokuto is pouting at him. There’s a smudge of sauce across his bottom lip and Keiji wants to lick it off. “What were you even thinking about?”

_How I desperately want to kiss you._

“You have sauce on your face.”

Bokuto huffs and wipes at his mouth with a napkin. “So _anyways_ , what I was saying was that Oikawa promised to stay for extra spiking practice with me, but then Iwaziumi was all…”

Keiji finds himself staring at Bokuto’s lips and zoning out again. He feels like burying his face in his hands and screaming or maybe pushing their food aside and tackling him over the table.

Okay. Okay. He’s going to have to do something about this.

On Mondays and Thursdays, Bokuto has a couple free hours between class and practice, and he usually comes home during that time. So on Mondays and Thursdays, Keiji has gotten into the habit of joining him in the living room to quietly (or not so quietly) do some homework together.

On this particular Monday, Keiji is not doing homework when Bokuto returns to the apartment. He appears to be reading a book on the couch, but really he is lying in wait, preparing for his moment to strike.

“I’m home!” Bokuto booms as he lets himself into the apartment and walks into the living room. “Hey, hey, Kaashi! Whatcha up to?”

Keiji closes his book and sets it aside. “I’ve been thinking about your offer.”

“What offer?”

“You said you would kiss me, if I wanted you to.” 

Bokuto’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open. “What. Uh, I mean… _what_? Are you serious?” He squints a little. “Is this one of your jokes that I don’t really get?”

Keiji sighs, the words _bad idea bad idea bad idea_ looping in his head. “No, it’s not a joke; and yes, I’m serious. If you’re interested, I would like to give it a try.”

“R-really?” Bokuto says, still skeptical. “It’s just… the other night, you didn’t seem like you liked it…”

“I didn’t particularly enjoy kissing in front of a bunch of drunken jeering college students, but I imagine it would be quite different if it were just the two of us.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Sure. Wait—do you mean like, right now?”

Keiji fiddles with his fingers. “If this is a convenient time. If you’d like to think about it, or plan for a later day—”

“No no no, now is good! I can do now.”

“Alright. Then… now.”

Bokuto drops his sports bag and slowly approaches the couch to sit down, hesitation radiating off of him like he’s worried he might scare Keiji away if he makes any sudden movements. They turn towards each other, Keiji sitting cross-legged while Bokuto kneels seiza-style.

“Okay, um,” Bokuto licks his lips. “How do you want to do this?”

“I don’t know. You’re supposed to be the one teaching me.”

“Er, well, I don’t know what you’re comfortable with, so…”

“Just tell me what to do,” Keiji says, and Bokuto swallows. “If I want to stop, I won’t hesitate to say so.”

“Yeah, okay, that sounds about right.”

“And you’ll have to stop me too, if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bokuto says dismissively. He scoots forward a little so his knees are pressed against Keiji’s legs. “Can I… touch you?”

“I imagine it would be quite difficult to kiss me without touching me.”

“No, I mean like,” he reaches forward, one hand settling on Keiji’s waist and the other sliding behind his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Oh,” Keiji breathes. He keeps his own hands clenched on his knees, knuckles going white.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay.”

Bokuto leans in and presses their lips together. He moves his mouth, gentle and slow, and after a second, Keiji responds, pushing into the kiss and trying to copy Bokuto’s motions. It’s warm, and soft—but maybe _too_ soft. He can tell Bokuto is holding back, kissing like Keiji is something fragile and delicate.

It’s still nice. But in Keiji’s fantasies it was always a lot… _more_.

Eventually, Bokuto pulls away, his eyes searching Keiji’s. “Was that okay?”

“Yes,” Keiji says after a brief pause.

“But?” Bokuto prompts.

Keiji hesitates, then figures he has nothing to lose. “You could kiss harder,” he says. “I’m not going to break.”

Bokuto’s eyes spark at the challenge, and he moves in again with determination. He stops right before their lips touch and tightens his hold on the back of Keiji’s head, pulling on his hair a little. “If you want me to stop, just say so.”

“Alright,” Keiji says, a little breathless. _Like that’s going to happen._

Then he kisses Keiji again, this time with more force, more urgency. His jaw working as they find a good rhythm, a steady push and pull. Bokuto’s tongue glides across Keiji’s lips, teasing, testing. Keiji gives up on holding his hands back and reaches forward to grip the front of Bokuto’s shirt. Bokuto seems to take this as encouragement; he bites and sucks on Keiji’s bottom lip and Keiji makes an involuntary whimpering noise that he would probably be embarrassed about if his brain were functioning at the moment.

After a few minutes, Bokuto pulls away again. “How was that?”

“Good,” Keiji breathes.

“Better than before?”

“Yes.” He licks his lips. They feel a little swollen. “Was I… okay?”

“Yeah. More than okay. I’m actually kinda surprised you haven’t done this before.”

Keiji doesn’t know what to say to that so he just leans forward to kiss Bokuto again. He reciprocates eagerly, licking into Keiji’s mouth and sliding their tongues together. When he pulls away a little to tease, Keiji responds by pushing his own tongue into Bokuto’s mouth, which makes Bokuto groan into the kiss. Keiji feels electrified and hot—everything is so hot—Bokuto’s mouth, and his hands pressing against Keiji’s skin, and Keiji’s brain, which might be on fire.

Bokuto kisses like his goal is to make Keiji forget his own name, and if he keeps up at this pace, he’s going to succeed.

Eventually Keiji has to break the kiss because he needs to catch his breath. Bokuto takes this opportunity to start kissing along his jaw and down the line of this throat, which really doesn’t help Keiji with regulating his breathing. It feels like his lungs are shaking in his chest.

“Is this okay?” Bokuto murmurs against his skin.

Keiji hums, because he doesn’t trust himself to say actual words at the moment. He’s panting more than when he has to climb up their ten flights of stairs. It’s embarrassing.

“You know, I kinda like seeing you like this,” Bokuto says, twisting fingers in Keiji’s hair and eliciting another gasp. He punctuates his sentences with heated kisses down Keiji’s neck, “You’re always so composed (kiss) like nothing really affects you (kiss) so it’s kinda nice (kiss) bein able to affect you.”

“Congratulations,” Keiji says, and he’s trying to sound sarcastic but it’s kind of undermined by the way his voice comes out like a whimper. Bokuto just gives a low laugh into his neck, which sends a shiver up his spine, causing Keiji to tremble and Bokuto to laugh even harder. _God_ Keiji hates this but also he really _really_ does _not_ hate this.

It’s all very confusing.

So it’s a good thing Bokuto keeps kissing him and he doesn’t have to think too much about it.

After what could be minutes or maybe hours or even years—who knows, Keiji has lost all sense of time—Bokuto stops kissing him and pulls away. Keiji unconsciously leans forward, chasing his lips before he remembers himself.

“Okay, I gotta—” Bokuto makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and groan. “I gotta go to practice. But this was fun.” He grabs Keiji’s face with both hands and leans in for another hungry kiss before standing up from the couch. “We should do that again sometime.”

And Keiji, in a stunning display of eloquence, says, “Hng,” as Bokuto flashes one last grin then grabs his sports bag and heads out of the apartment.


	9. Bad Ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspiration / song of the day - [Bad Ideas by Tessa Violet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNtK6jx9y4A)

The weirdest thing about kissing Bokuto is that things aren’t weird.

Maybe it should’ve been awkward between them, and maybe it would’ve been if it were anyone else besides Bokuto. But later that night, when he comes home from practice, he greets Keiji as he always does.

“Aghaasheee! I’m home! Ooh are you making curry? Smells so good!!”

Keiji glances up to see Bokuto grinning brightly as he leans against the kitchen doorway. Keiji almost smiles back; the lingering doubt and last bit of nervousness he was feeling disappears. “Mmm. It’ll be ready in ten. How was practice?”

“Awesome! I was on fire today! Even Oikawa was impressed and he like never compliments me ‘cause he says it goes to my head. But I had this one straight spike that was like _wuhpow!_ ” He mimes forcefully spiking a ball. “It was so cool!”

And they fall into an easy conversation, and it’s comfortable, and normal, and exactly like every other night.

They don’t talk about the kissing. Bokuto doesn’t bring it up, so Keiji certainly isn’t going to.

Even three days later, nothing has changed between them. It’s like it never even happened. And Keiji is mostly grateful for this, and only a little disconcerted. He spends the afternoon trying to focus on his History assignment that’s due tomorrow, but his anxious thoughts keep spiraling off in different directions that all lead back to Bokuto.

So was it just a one time thing, then? Maybe that’s for the better. It _was_ a bad idea to begin with. 

But then, Bokuto _did_ say they should do it again. Is he waiting for Keiji to ask? Did he only do it _because_ Keiji asked? Maybe he felt obligated and was just doing Keiji a favor and wasn’t really into it. But, no—he certainly _seemed_ into it. You don’t kiss someone like _that_ if you’re not into it.

Or maybe you do. It’s not like Keiji has any experience in the matter. Maybe he’s misreading this entire situation…

He groans and pushes up from his desk. He can’t focus on homework right now. He needs a break. It’s still too early for dinner, but… he glances around his room for something to occupy himself with and spots the pile of dirty clothes that’s been building up. That’ll do.

He fills up his linen laundry bag with clothes then grabs his phone and a book to read, intending to camp out in the laundry room instead of making multiple trips up and down the many flights of stairs.

“Kaashi!” Bokuto greets when he walks out into the hallway. Bokuto is at the table with a textbook open and papers spread out around him. “Are you going out?”

“Yes. Hot date,” he replies, and Bokuto’s eyebrows shoot up. Keiji smirks and holds up his bag of laundry. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Oh!” Bokuto says, face lighting up with understanding. “I got laundry too! Wait right there!”

Keiji frowns, working up a biting response that he’s not a goddamn laundry service and if Bokuto thinks for one second—

Bokuto reappears holding a basket of clothes against one hip and smiling as he says, “Let’s go.”

“Go?” Keiji intelligently inquires.

“To do laundry! We can keep each other company! I need a study break anyways.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The laundry room is on the first floor, tucked behind the stairs. It’s kind of stuffy, because it’s not very well-ventilated, but it’s kept clean and always smells nice. There are two washing machines sitting side by side and two dryers stacked on top of each other. They each claim a washing machine and load them up with their clothes and detergent.

While the washers run, Bokuto persuades Keiji to walk next door to the konbini so they can buy drinks and snacks. 

“Something small, Bokuto-san,” Keiji warns. “Don’t ruin your appetite for dinner.”

They’re in no rush, so they take their time walking up and down the aisles. Keiji chooses umeboshi onigiri and his usual canned espresso while Bokuto picks up a chocolate bar and a florescent blue sports drink. Keiji eyes Bokuto’s selection and decides that dinner will be vegetable-heavy tonight to balance _that_ out. They loiter outside the konbini to eat their snacks, and by the time they get back to the laundry room the wash cycles are just finishing up.

“Here, I’ll use the top dryer, since I’m taller!” Bokuto says, haphazardly moving his clothes from the washer to the dryer.

“We’re nearly the same height,” Keiji grumbles, moving his own clothes over in a more orderly fashion.

“Yeah, but I’m still taller!” Bokuto boasts as they both start their machines.

Keiji stands up straight, putting his hands on his hips. “You’ve got maybe an inch on me, at most.”

“Nah, it’s gotta be more than that.” Bokuto steps closer and holds up a hand to the tips of his spiked hair as if he’s measuring.

“Your hair does _not_ count.” Keiji steps forward and grabs Bokuto’s wrist, shoving the other boy’s hand down so he’s palming his own head, flattening his hair. “Don’t cheat.”

And Bokuto is laughing—but then he trails off, and Keiji realizes just how close together they’re standing the moment before Bokuto asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Keiji lets go of Bokuto’s wrist but doesn’t move away. “W-why?”

He shrugs. “‘Cause I liked it before, and I want to do it again, and we have thirty minutes to kill.”

_This is definitely a bad idea_ , Keiji thinks as he says, “Alright.”

Bokuto grins, and then he’s leaning in and his lips are pressing against Keiji’s. They fall easily into a rhythm, like this is something they always do, like this is somehow already familiar. Bokuto grabs Keiji’s hips and slips his tongue into his mouth; and Keiji loops his arms around Bokuto’s neck and sucks on his bottom lip.

And it’s just as good as it was before. Over the last three days Keiji almost wrote that first time off as a fluke, or figured he was misremembering it as better than it actually was, letting fantasy overwrite reality. But now it’s happening again and Keiji’s lips are buzzing and there’s heat coiling in his stomach and Bokuto is running his hands up Keiji’s back, tracing his spine and making him shiver.

Bokuto helps lift Keiji up onto one of the washing machines so he can sit there while Bokuto stands between his legs, strong arms caging him in as he leans down to kiss him again and again and again. Keiji’s skin tingles wherever Bokuto touches, and warmth spreads through his entire body when their tongues slide together. Bokuto tastes like neon blue sports drink and chocolate and a flavor that Keiji is learning is distinctly _him_. It’s addictive.

And Keiji forgets about his anxious thoughts, forgets about his half-finished History assignment, even forgets they’re in a semi-public place and any of their neighbors could walk in at any moment. All he can focus on is kissing Bokuto, and Bokuto kissing him right back.

When the dryers stop with a low buzz, Keiji almost lets out a whine of protest. It’s incredibly unfair that thirty minutes passed so quickly. Their clothes can’t possibly be completely dry that fast. They should probably definitely go for another cycle. Or two.

Bokuto breaks the kiss, grinning wide as he rests his forehead against Keiji’s. His lips are still close enough that Keiji can feel the heat of his breath when he says, “That was really nice.”

Keiji swallows and replies, “Laundry’s done.”

Bokuto laughs. “Guess we gotta take care of that then, huh?”

They pull away from each other and get to work unloading the dryers. Fortunately Bokuto is too preoccupied to notice how Keiji’s legs wobble when he hops down from the washer and tries to stand. As they fold their clothes, Bokuto fills the silence with a story about how once at training camp he was on laundry duty and accidentally dyed a load of white practice jerseys bright pink.

“And Coach was _so mad_ but I kinda thought they looked pretty cool! And we won all our games that day, so they were probably, like, a good luck charm, you know?”

Keiji smiles to himself. His anxious spiral of thoughts has completely dissipated; he feels calm and clear-headed once again.

So okay, maybe kissing Bokuto is a bad idea. But as far as bad ideas go, Keiji has _never_ enjoyed one more.


	10. Why Not To Kiss Your Roommate

A few days later, they’re sitting on the couch together after dinner. Keiji is kind of reading a book (but not really) and Bokuto is kind of watching TV (but not really) and then Bokuto knocks his knee against Keiji’s.

“Hey,” he says. “Wanna make out?”

And Keiji’s gut reaction is _yes please_ but he’s starting to feel anxious that they haven’t really _talked_ about what they’re doing; he’s starting to worry that Bokuto is going to expect more from him. So instead he says, “I don’t want to date you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bokuto says agreeably. “But I didn’t ask if you wanted to date. I asked if you wanna make out.”

Keiji considers this for a moment then closes his book and sets it down. “Alright.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I also find it to be an enjoyable activity, and as long as we’re both on the same page that it won’t go any further…” he almost says _I don’t see why not,_ but that would be a lie. In his head is a very long list of reasons of Why Not To Kiss Your Roommate, but when the option is dangling out in front of him, offered freely and all he has to do is _take_ , his physical desires prove victorious over rationality.

“Cool,” Bokuto says, turning off the TV. “Then—come here?”

And Keiji moves forward, lets himself be pulled into Bokuto’s lap, straddling his thighs. And then they’re kissing, and just like the times before, it’s _so damn good._

Keiji has gotten bolder and more confident with his actions, and Bokuto’s hesitance has long since disappeared. They’re moving fast tonight, the kisses rough and hot and wet. Bokuto’s hands are everywhere, pulling Keiji’s hair, grabbing his hips, running down his thighs. Keiji feels electric, like a live-wire, sparks in his veins and fire in his blood.

Their couch is too small for this. When Keiji almost falls backwards off Bokuto’s lap, Bokuto wraps his arms around Keiji’s waist then in one smooth motion flips him onto his back so he’s pressed into the cushions and Bokuto is kneeling between his legs, hovering above him. Keiji hooks his legs around Bokuto’s hips, slotting their lips together again. Their position is still a little awkward and cramped—their couch is _really_ too fucking small for this.

Between breathless kisses Bokuto shifts and his head smacks against the armrest. He lets out a frustrated huff. “Can we—is it okay if we move to my room?”

“Yes,” Keiji says immediately, relieved that he didn’t have to be the one to suggest it.

“Good.”

And then Bokuto’s hands are gripping Keiji’s ass and he’s being lifted and— _oh_.

Keiji is not small. He’s nearly six feet tall, and while he’s slim, he’s not exactly light. But Bokuto picks him up so effortlessly it’s like he weighs nothing at all. His breath catches in his throat and he tightens his legs around Bokuto’s waist as he’s carried through the living room. Keiji latches his arms around Bokuto’s neck and trails hot kisses along his jaw, earning a small growl as Bokuto kicks open his bedroom door.

They fall onto the bed, Keiji on his back and Bokuto propped up above him as their lips crash together again.

It’s only now that he’s already here that Keiji considers the implications of being in Bokuto’s bed—a much more intimate space than the couch, another line crossed. And he wants to worry about it—he definitely will later—but right now all he can think about is _Bokuto, Bokuto, Bokuto_. Touching him and kissing him and being pressed into a pillow that smells like him.

After a while Bokuto shifts so they’re both lying on the bed, on their sides and facing each other. Their lips move together, a heady flow of biting and licking and sucking, and Keiji feels a little drunk, intoxicated with how Bokuto tastes.

Keiji doesn’t realize how very hard he is until Bokuto grabs his hips and starts to pull him closer. He’s about to panic, embarrassed—but then he feels Bokuto, equally hard and pressing against him, and his panic dissolves into pleasure as he tips his head back and moans.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Bokuto mumbles into his neck, and Keiji’s hips jerk in response, pushing harder against Bokuto and causing him to gasp. His hands settle at Keiji’s waist, fingertips slipping just under his shirt to press against the warm skin of his lower back.

Boktuo positions his thigh between Keiji’s legs. “Here, you can…” he trails off, because there’s really no polite way to say _here is my leg for you to hump_. Keiji’s hips move on their own as he grinds against Bokuto, who groans at the motion and kisses him hard. The heat and weight of Bokuto’s erection against his own thigh is making Keiji feel desperate and unhinged.

This is much more than just making out at this point, and Keiji is getting way too worked up.

“I have to—” Keiji starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. _I have to retreat to my room to furiously masturbate? I have to go take a cold shower to calm the fuck down? I have to stop grinding against your thigh before I come in my pants?_

But then Bokuto is kissing him again and he forgets he even started a sentence. He thinks he’s probably close to forgetting all human language. Keiji ruts against him, letting out a frustrated huff because it’s _not enough_.

“I can help?” Bokuto says in a low whisper.

And Keiji doesn’t even process the question he just says, “Okay.”

Which is why he startles when Bokuto reaches between them and slides his hand down Keiji’s length. He gasps and jerks back at the sudden touch.

Bokuto instantly moves away. “Sorry, if you don’t want—”

“I want,” Keiji says quickly, and he really _really_ does. He’s aching with how much he wants this. He curls his fingers in Bokuto’s hair and pulls him close again to murmur against his lips. “Touch me.”

This time when Bokuto palms him through his pants, he presses into it, delighting in the friction.

“More,” Keiji hears himself say; a whimper, a plea. He’s never before felt so needy.

And then Bokuto is unbuttoning Keiji’s pants and slipping a hand inside and touching him like no one else has ever touched him before.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Keiji groans, thrusting into his fist, already on the edge of orgasm. Bokuto is stroking him and kissing his neck and the pleasure is almost overwhelming in its intensity. And then Keiji is coming with a muffled moan as he bites into Bokuto’s shoulder. He can feel a bit of warmth splatter his stomach but most of it ends up in Bokuto’s hand.

As the waves of pleasure fade and Keiji catches his breath, Bokuto kisses him on the mouth again, softer and slower than the kisses before. Then he breaks away, murmuring, “I’m gonna go grab a towel. I’ll be right back.”

Bokuto climbs off him and leaves the room, and the haze of arousal starts to dissipate. As soon as Keiji can think clearly again, he’s struck with the horrifying realization of what exactly just happened. Shame slams into him like a freight train; he feels suddenly vulnerable and exposed and _terrified_.

In an instant he’s bolting up from Bokuto’s bed and running to his own room, closing the door and leaning back against it. There’s a cooling wet spot on his boxer briefs and his heart is rattling in his chest as his breath comes in shallow gasps.

A few seconds later he hears Bokuto in the hallway, calling out, “Akaashi?”

Keiji closes his eyes and silently pleads, _Don’t follow, don’t push, please don’t make me face you right now._

After another moment he hears footsteps retreating and Bokuto’s own bedroom door clicking shut.

Keiji lets out a long sigh, feeling mostly relieved, and maybe a little disappointed, but above all is the crushing weight of embarrassment.

_Fuck._


	11. Terms and Conditions

They avoid each other for the next two days. It gives Keiji plenty of time to panic and analyze the situation and realize he may have overreacted a bit.

Really, he has nothing to be ashamed of. So what if his roommate jerked him off? They are two consenting adults. There’s nothing wrong with what they’re doing. Sure, it’s not a very _smart_ idea to fool around with your roommate. Actually, it may very well be the stupidest thing Keiji has done to date. But…

He doesn’t want to stop. And they’ve already come this far, already crossed the line between appropriate roommate behavior and… whatever the hell _this_ is. But with proper communication they might just be able to make _this_ work. After all, they get along well enough, and they’re clearly physically attracted to one another, and neither of them wants a romantic relationship.

This could work.

At the very least, it’s worth discussing.

So, on the third day after coming in his roommate’s hand, Keiji makes them both dinner.

When Bokuto returns home after practice, he looks surprised to see Keiji cooking.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly, shifting in the hallway just outside the kitchen.

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” Keiji replies calmly. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Um. Okay.”

“And while we eat, I think we need to have a conversation.”

Bokuto gulps. “O-okay.”

“I’m sorry!” Bokuto blurts out as soon as they sit down at the table, steaming bowls of oyakodon in front of them. “I took things too far the other night. I shouldn’t have… done that. I’m sorry.”

Keiji frowns a little. “I was the one who asked you to.”

“Yeah, but I kinda pressured you…”

“You didn’t. I wanted to.”

“But… it seems like you regret what happened, so.”

Keiji sighs. “I don’t regret what we did, I only regret my reaction,” he admits. He uses his chopsticks to poke at his food, though he’s not yet eating. Bokuto isn’t eating either, and Keiji really wishes he would, if only so he would stop staring. “I was… embarrassed to be seen in such a vulnerable state, and I handled it poorly.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says softly. Then, “Sorry.”

Keiji sighs again. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Still. I’m sorry.”

“It’s going to get very tiresome if you apologize like this every time we hook up.”

“Yeah, but—wait, what? Are there going to be more times? I thought… you said you didn’t want it to go any further…”

“I meant further emotionally, not physically.”

“Oh. So… what does that mean?”

“Start eating and I’ll tell you.”

Bokuto nods and starts on his food. Keiji takes a bite as well, giving himself a moment to consider how to propose his idea.

“As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not interested in dating. I don’t want a boyfriend, or any kind of emotional attachment. But I do enjoy being physical with you, and I would be interested in continuing with that, if that’s something that you’d like as well.”

“Huh,” Bokuto says, chewing thoughtfully. “So like, friends with benefits?”

“If that’s what you’d like to call it. Is that…” Keiji’s tugs on his fingers under the table in an attempt to calm his nerves. He’s not used to feeling so fragile and hopeful; not used to wanting with his body instead of his brain. “Is that something you would want?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto says immediately. “I mean, as long as you want to, too.”

The knot in Keiji’s chest eases. “I want to. Though we would likely need to establish some parameters.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t want to have penetrative sex. At least not anytime soon. But we can explore other things like mutual masturbation, oral sex, perhaps even manual prostate stimulation—”

Bokuto groans and drops his chopsticks so he can bury his face in his hands. “You sound like a sex ed textbook,” he whines in distress. Through the cracks in his fingers, Keiji can see that his whole face is bright red.

Keiji struggles to hide his amusement. He didn’t expect Bokuto to be so shy about this. “You’d prefer I use more colloquial terms? Hand jobs, blowjobs, fingering, rimming—”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Bokuto yells into his hands. He drags his fingers down so his eyes are visible again. “How can you just say all that with a straight face!?”

“What are you so embarrassed about?” Keiji asks, still fighting a smile. “You’re the one with experience. Haven’t you done all these acts before?”

“I mean, yeah, but I’ve never really talked about it like this with any partners before.” He drops his hands from his face and picks up his chopsticks again, turning his attention back to the food, though his cheeks and ears are still tinged pink.

“Well, you’re going to have to if you want to pursue this arrangement with me. Communication will be vital in making this work,” Keiji explains, then emphasizes, “We _live_ together. This could get complicated quite easily. We’ll need to be very clear about our intentions, and desires, and levels of comfort to avoid any misunderstandings.”

“Right, okay,” Bokuto says between bites. “That makes sense.” After another moment he asks, “And you’re really sure you wanna do this? Like, with me?”

“Yes,” Keiji replies. “I wouldn’t propose this idea if I wasn’t completely sure.”

Bokuto nods, but it seems more contemplative than affirmative. “So, you don’t wanna wait for… I dunno, someone special?” Keiji cocks his head to the side and Bokuto goes on. “I guess I just feel kinda bad, taking all your firsts.”

“Ah,” Keiji says. “You shouldn’t worry. I don’t particularly care about that sort of thing. Firsts are awkward and imperfect. This is meant to be an experimentation, a learning experience. I’d rather practice with someone I don’t have feelings for, so I know what I’m doing when I do find someone I want to date.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“If that bothers you—”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji says patiently. “I’m serious about communication. If something about this doesn’t work for you, you need to let me know.”

“Right, so,” he starts, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s just—it’s not about me, right? Like, you don’t want to date _anyone._ It’s not like there’s something about me specifically that’s… undateable?”

Keiji sighs but it’s more out of fondness than exasperation. This soft idiot, worrying about the most absurd things.

“That’s correct,” he says. “It’s dating in general that I’m not interested in. It has nothing to do with you.” Bokuto nods but he’s still slightly frowning, so Keiji goes on. “Though for the record, I wouldn’t be interested in pursuing an arrangement like this with just anyone. It’s only _because_ it’s with you that I’m considering this at all.”

“Oh. Well, that makes me feel better.” The frown fades and his face brightens. It reminds Keiji of the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “I wouldn’t wanna do this with just anyone, either.”

Keiji lets out a small breath, feeling a strange sense of relief and satisfaction at this response. He turns his attention back to his food; they eat in silence for a moment before Keiji goes on.

“I would also prefer if we kept this between us,” he says. “This aspect of our relationship is not something anyone else needs to know about.”

He glances up to find Bokuto avoiding his eyes. “I, uh, might’ve already told Kuroo that we kissed,” he winces. “Sorry.”

Keiji finds himself wincing, too. If Kuroo knows then there’s a good chance Tsukishima knows as well. So that’s just lovely. Keiji sighs. “It’s fine.”

“…Are you mad?”

“No,” Keiji says, and it’s the truth. “I wouldn’t get mad at you for something like that. It’s understandable that you wanted to confide in a friend, and oh—I, ah, also mentioned something about us kissing to Konoha-san.”

“Oh, okay,” he says, and he looks a little relieved at that.

“But, from here on out can we keep what we do just between us?”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Good. Now, can I ask when was the last time you had sex?”

“Umm,” he says, blushing a bit as he counts on his fingers. “Probably like nine months ago?” 

“Really?” Keiji says, surprise slipping into his tone.

“Yeah,” Bokuto shrugs. “I mean, I guess I kinda have a reputation for making out with a lot of people at parties and stuff, but I don’t usually go further than that. I just like kissing.”

“I see. And when was the last time you were tested for STDs?”

“Erm. Never?” he says, wincing a little. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m not here to judge you. You don’t even have to get tested, if you don’t want to.” And then, because he’s finding he quite likes to rile Bokuto up, Keiji carefully chooses how to phrase the next part. “But I won’t be putting my mouth on your cock unless you do.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bokuto says. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

Keiji bites back a smile, torn between amusement and insecurity. He fidgets with his fingers, and insecurity wins. “You know, I’ve never given a blow job before. I’m probably not very good at it.”

Bokuto looks up him then, a glint in his eyes. “Well I am,” he says through a smile that borders on feral. It makes Keiji feel warm all over. “I can teach you. Isn’t that the point of this?”

Keiji swallows hard. “Indeed.”

After they finish eating and cleaning up in the kitchen, they spend a good hour making out on their couch. It doesn’t go further than that, and it’s not as rough or urgent as it was the other night. It’s more of an exploration, a promise of what’s to come now that they’ve talked it out and they both know there’s more to come.

It’s still _so good_. Is it going to be this good every time? When they go further than kissing, will that be just as good too?

Keiji can’t wait to find out.


	12. Physical Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Admit Defeat by Bastille](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DmjyM058S4k)

On Saturday, after Bokuto’s morning volleyball practice, they go on their weekly grocery shopping trip together as usual. But the routine changes once they get home. As soon as Keiji places the last item in the pantry, Bokuto grabs his elbow and spins him around, backing him up against the counter.

“Hey,” he says with a sly smile. “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask every time.”

“I don’t?”

Keiji shakes his head. “As long as we’re alone in the apartment, you can do whatever you want to me.”

“Jesus,” Bokuto says, closing his eyes. “When you say things like that, are you trying to kill me?”

Keiji bites his lip to suppress a smile, feeling a thrill at his reaction. Bokuto is just so expressive, so responsive. It stirs something inside of Keiji, awakens the part of him that wants to push and play and tease.

“I’m not saying I’ll be receptive every time,” he clarifies. “If you don’t want to get rejected, I would strongly advise against interrupting me when I’m studying.”

He brings his hands up to rest on Bokuto’s hips and pulls him a little closer. Bokuto mirrors the action, hands settling easily on Keiji’s waist, and Keiji relaxes into the contact. “But I like the way you touch me,” he admits. “So when you want to, you can. If I’m not in the mood or if you do something I don’t like, I will tell you in no uncertain terms. And I’ll expect you to do the same—if I try to initiate something and you aren’t interested, I want you to tell me no.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bokuto says. “I mean, that won’t happen, but sure.”

Keiji smirks. “You’re saying that anytime I want you, I can have you?” he asks, and he feels Bokuto shiver slightly under his fingertips. The atmosphere in the room changes; the air between them suddenly charged.

Bokuto swallows and give a little nod. “Sure seems that way.”

Keiji licks his lips, tilts his face up. “Then, kiss me.”

Bokuto is leaning in before Keiji even finishes his request.

It starts off soft and slow, but things heat up quickly because this is clearly leading somewhere. Not that they really _planned_ for that, but they both seem to be thinking the same thing.

After kissing in the kitchen for a few minutes, Bokuto asks, “Do you wanna go to my room?”

And Keiji swallows and nods. “Yes.” Then he follows Bokuto down the hall.

The last time he was here, he didn’t exactly spend much time looking around, so it’s a little like he’s seeing Bokuto’s room for the first time. Bokuto must realize what he’s doing, because he pauses in the doorway and lets Keiji look, taking in the volleyball posters and jerseys pinned to the wall, the queen-size bed that Keiji has _never_ seen properly made in all the times he’s glimpsed it from the hall, the pictures of friends taped up above the _very_ messy desk (no wonder Bokuto does all his homework at their dining table).

Perhaps most interesting, though, is the tall bookcase in one corner. It’s more filled with trophies and medals than with books, but there’s a full shelf dedicated to manga, and another shelf filled with haphazardly stacked novels—a few of which Keiji recognizes as some of his own favorites. Huh. Bokuto probably owns more books than Keiji, whose tight budget has him mostly borrowing from the library.

He turns back to look curiously at Bokuto, this man who keeps surprising him in so many little ways, and he wonders how many more mysteries are left for him to discover. A lot, he hopes.

Bokuto steps forward to kiss him again. He gently cups Keiji’s face with both hands and walks him backwards to the bed. They may be moving at a slower pace today, but a lack of urgency does not mean a lack of tension. The energy between them is building, thrumming in the air as they kiss and touch, both of them deeply aware that this is just the warm-up.

They climb onto the bed, and Bokuto tugs on the bottom of Keiji’s shirt, looking up to him like he’s asking for permission. Keiji swallows then lifts his arms so Bokuto can pull it off. Bokuto’s eyes are hungry as he traces his fingers along Keiji’s ribs and over his nipples, making him shiver at the sensation.

Keiji almost reaches for Bokuto’s shirt then, but he hesitates. He’s not really insecure about his body, but he knows without a doubt that he doesn’t compare to Bokuto. Still, with the way Bokuto is looking at him and touching him and whispering _you’re so gorgeous_ into his collarbones, it doesn’t seem to bother him that Keiji is all slender frame and lean muscles. Not everyone can be built like a god.

After another minute of kissing, Keiji decides he really _really_ does want Bokuto’s shirt off; he pulls on it, and Bokuto leans back on his knees so he can yank it off, throwing it unceremoniously behind him.

And if Keiji wasn’t already turned on, this would surely do it. The expanse of Bokuto’s sun-tanned chest, soft skin with hard muscles underneath; the sturdy cut of his shoulders, his arms, his abs.

“You’re staring,” Bokuto says with a grin.

“Yes.”

“You’ve seen me shirtless before.”

“It’s different when I’m allowed to look.” Keiji reaches out a hand and trails a gentle line down the center of his chest, splaying his fingers across the muscles of his stomach. “Allowed to touch.”

But that’s all the touching he gets to do for now, because Bokuto is suddenly leaning forward to crash their lips together again.

Keiji is pushed back into the mattress and Bokuto settles above him, propped up on his elbows, so their chests are touching but Keiji isn’t being crushed under his weight. Still, the pressure and heat of Bokuto’s body against his is driving him wild with want, and he lets out an involuntary moan when Bokuto rolls his hips and grinds down against Keiji.

Bokuto starts kissing down Keiji’s neck, scooting backwards to continue down his chest, his stomach. His fingers come to rest on the button of Keiji’s jeans and he pauses, looking up through his eyelashes like he’s giving Keiji the chance to say no. 

But Keiji just licks his lips and tries to memorize the image of Bokuto Koutarou between his legs, pupils blown wide with lust, hair all mussed with bits falling loose from where Keiji’s fingers ran through it. What a fucking sight.

He unbuttons Keiji’s jeans and they work together to pull them off. Bokuto drops them over the edge of the bed then runs his hands up Keiji’s legs from calves to thighs. Keiji trembles at his touch, his dick throbbing when Bokuto’s hand just barely brushes against it through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs. Bokuto starts kissing a line across Keiji’s stomach, from hip bone to hip bone, just above the waistband. Then he slips his fingers into the elastic and looks up to meet Keiji’s eyes again.

“Can I?”

“Yes,” Keiji says, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He lifts his hips as Bokuto slides his boxer briefs down his thighs, his legs, off one ankle then the other.

Keiji has been naked in front of people before—changing rooms after sports games, showers at the gym, trips to hot springs resorts—but he’s never been naked like _this_ before. Never in someone else’s bed, never with someone else touching him. He feels nervous, but not scared. Not with Bokuto. Not when he looks at Keiji like _that_ —so open, and attentive, and _hungry_.

Bokuto’s palms graze Keiji’s calves, then his thighs, moving up with intention. And then his thick fingers are wrapping around Keiji’s length.

It’s such a stark contrast to the other night. Then it was all frantic motions and delirious lust in the dark. Now the room is softly lit, the early evening sun streaking through the blinds. Bokuto’s actions are slow, deliberate as he gives Keiji’s cock a few indulgent strokes.

He’s— _different_ like this, Keiji realizes. Sharply focused and intensely serious, descriptors Keiji has previously never associated with Bokuto. It’s a little intimidating. For all the shyness Bokuto showed during their conversation the other day, there’s not a trace of it left in his expression now.

As his hand continues to stroke, he leans down to kiss along the crease where Keiji’s hip meets his leg, trailing down to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Bokuto uses a bit of tongue so the kisses are warm and wet and then cool when his breath hits those spots again. And then Keiji feels an exhale of hot air over his length and he notices how Bokuto is positioned above him.

And Keiji realizes it’s not just a hand job he’s about to receive.

“Oh,” he breathes. “You intend to. Oh.”

“You wanna learn, right?” Bokuto asks with wild eyes and a sinful smile. “Pay attention.” 

And then Bokuto’s hot tongue is pressing against the head of Keiji’s cock and swirling around. Keiji gasps, and Bokuto holds his gaze as he takes him deeper into his mouth. And then he starts to _suck_.

“Oh fu—” Keiji leans back and shoves his hand against his mouth to muffle himself. His body responds automatically, helplessly thrusting up into the warmth, causing Bokuto to grunt and grip Keiji’s hips to keep him still.

Keiji glances down, ready to apologize—but the words die in his throat. He has to immediately close his eyes because the sight of Bokuto’s spit-shiny lips wrapped around his dick is going to fucking kill him if he keeps looking. Even without the visual, Keiji knows he’s not going to last long in the wet heat of Bokuto’s mouth as he continues to bob up and down, alternating between licking and sucking.

And Keiji is trying to stay in control, struggling to keep his composure, but he can feel himself cracking under the pressure of Bokuto’s tongue, the pressure of Bokuto’s hands still pinning his hips to the bed.

So he admits defeat—he gives up, he gives in, he lets himself go, he lets himself _feel_. It’s like his brain shuts down, and all he can focus on is pleasure like he’s never known before. He takes his hand away from his mouth so can fist the sheets instead. The room is filled with stunted gasps and whimpers that must be coming from Keiji because Bokuto’s mouth is otherwise occupied.

“B-Bokuto-san—I’m—hng—close,” Keiji tries to choke out when the building tension is almost too much. But Bokuto doesn’t slow his pace, and Keiji thinks maybe he didn’t hear, maybe he didn’t understand. He looks down to catch Bokuto’s attention—but he already has it. Bokuto’s eyes are locked on his as he lowers himself on Keiji’s cock, taking him deep into his throat. And then he swallows, muscles contracting around Keiji’s length.

And that’s what pushes Keiji over the edge.

A groan rips out of his throat and he tips his head back as Bokuto continues to swallow around him, swallow down his release. Keiji’s mind is an incoherent blur as his orgasm pulses through him. His breathing is ragged and loud, but somehow he still hears the wet pop of Bokuto’s lips letting him go just as he’s starting to feel too sensitive.

Keiji’s fingers are almost trembling as he reaches for Bokuto’s shoulders and tries to pull him up, pull him closer. He desperately needs— _something_. Touch, warmth, Bokuto—something. Bokuto crawls over him, grinning smugly and looking very proud of himself, which probably would’ve annoyed Keiji in literally any other situation. But for now all Keiji can do is wind his arms around Bokuto’s neck, pressing their chests flush together and pulling him down for a kiss.

His mouth is salty and bitter, and Keiji realizes he’s tasting himself on Bokuto’s lips. He would’ve thought he’d find that gross, but it’s strangely thrilling. He slides his tongue into Bokuto’s mouth and the other man groans.

When his brain is able to properly compose thoughts again, Keiji realizes how unfair it is that he’s completely naked while Bokuto is still mostly clothed. He pulls out of the kiss and looks down at Bokuto’s erection, straining against the material of his jeans. He hooks his fingers into Bokuto’s waistband and tugs a little, fingers fiddling with the button.

Bokuto puts his hand over Keiji’s to stop him. “Wait—I don’t have my test results yet.”

“And I wont use my mouth until you do,” Keiji confirms. “But I can still use my hand, if that’s okay?”

“Oh!” His eyes go wide with understanding. “Definitely okay! Super okay!”

“Then take these off,” Keiji says, tugging again on the waistband of his jeans.

Bokuto practically leaps off the bed, hurriedly unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down—along with his boxers—in one fell swoop. Keiji’s eyebrows lift at Bokuto’s sudden nakedness. He kind of wanted to be the one to teasingly slide those boxers off, but—next time. He has other things to focus on right now. Namely, Bokuto’s very hard, very _big_ penis.

Of course it’s big. Everything about him is big.

“Come here,” Keiji says, licking his lips. Bokuto complies, immediately crawling back onto the bed. Keiji pushes him down so he’s lying flat on his back then scoots a little closer, propped up on one elbow.

For a moment he only looks, appreciating the way Bokuto’s cock rests against his stomach, flushed pink, the head shiny and wet. Then Keiji reaches out to touch him, hesitant fingers wrapping around his shaft. He’s _thick_ , a solid weight in Keiji’s palm. He strokes once, twice, then uses his thumb to smear pre-cum around the slit. Bokuto lets out a stuttering breath and his hips buck into the touch.

Keiji is torn about where to look—he wants to watch what his hand is doing, but he also wants to watch Bokuto’s face for his reactions, especially when he’s making those soft little noises, eyelids fluttering, lips slack and slightly parted. Keiji rubs his thumb over the head again and Bokuto _whimpers_ as his dick throbs in Keiji’s hand, and that’s enough encouragement to really get going.

Keiji has never given someone else a hand job before, but he knows what feels good when he touches himself, so he tries to replicate that, even though the angle is different and a little awkward. He strokes Bokuto at a steady pace, occasionally twisting his wrist and rubbing his thumb over the head of Bokuto’s cock. When Bokuto’s breath starts coming in sharper, faster gasps, Keiji increases his speed.

Bokuto must’ve been worked up from before, because it doesn’t take long to finish him off. He comes with a groan and a shudder, and Keiji strokes him through it, biting his lip and watching in fascination as cum spills into his hand and over Bokuto’s stomach. When Keiji glances up to look at Bokuto’s face again, he finds Bokuto watching _him_.

Then Bokuto reaches out and grabs Keiji by the back of his neck to pull him in for a deep kiss. When they break apart, Keiji flops down on the bed beside him, and they exchange a few softer kisses as they catch their breaths and come down from the high of arousal. Keiji sinks back into a pillow, exhaustion starting to creep in as his heart rate slows.

“I’ll be right back,” Bokuto murmurs. “Don’t run away this time.”

“I doubt I’m physically capable of running at the moment,” Keiji replies, letting his eyes close. He feels boneless, half-dead in a good way.

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment.” The mattress creaks as Bokuto pushes himself off the bed.

“You should,” Keiji says sleepily. He shivers a little at the sensation of sweat cooling on his forehead, his chest, his thighs. “That was. Very nice.”

Bokuto lets out a low laugh as his footsteps trail out of the room. He returns a minute later with a damp washcloth and gently wipes off Keiji’s hand while Keiji just sort of lies there, feeling spent and content and on the edge of sleep.

“What are you thinking?” Bokuto asks in a soft voice. Keiji doesn’t bother opening his eyes, but he can tell from Bokuto’s tone that he’s concerned, his eyebrows probably creased together in unnecessary worry.

“That I’m much too tired to cook dinner now.”

The responding laugh is full of relief. “I’ll order takeout. Stay here,” he instructs, as if Keiji could possibly do anything else after _that_. Keiji feels a blanket pulled over him and a quick kiss against his forehead. The mattress shakes slightly as Bokuto bounces off of it.

He must doze off, because the sound of a closing door echoing through the apartment has him jolting awake. Through the blinds he can see the sun lower in the sky, though not by much, so at least he hasn’t been out for very long. He’s still naked, still in Bokuto’s bed, and without him here too Keiji feels like this isn’t allowed. He quickly finds his clothes tangled in the sheets and strewn on the floor, redressing and walking out to the living room.

Bokuto is settling down at the table with two bulging plastic bags. “Hey, hey, you’re up!”

“Sorry,” Keiji says, fidgeting a little and trying to fight down his embarrassment. “I—fell asleep in your bed.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it!” Bokuto says cheerfully as he unpacks the bags and reveals a half-dozen white cardboard containers. “I was just about to come get you—food’s here! I got us Chinese!”

And Keiji realizes he has no more energy to feel flustered because he’s _starving_.

He joins Bokuto at the table and they dive into the food, sharing cartons of fried rice and kung pao beef and chicken chow mein. Any residual awkwardness fades quickly as they click back into their standard dinner routine. It’s comfortable, and familiar, and Keiji feels relaxed and… happy.

And it might just be his sleepy post-orgasm brain, but he finds himself thinking that maybe this isn’t a stupid idea after all. Maybe this is the smartest thing he’s ever done.


	13. Art Appreciation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [The Louvre by Lorde](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQkdwymDanE)

Three days later, Bokuto announces the results of his test over dinner. “I’m all clear, so. We can, uh, do other stuff. If you still want to, I mean.”

“I still want to,” Keiji says. “Though, I do have two more things to mention before we go further.”

“What’s that?”

“First, to be clear, I don’t expect exclusivity with this arrangement. If you want to pursue other people, you are perfectly free to do so. I would only ask that if you do have sex with someone else, you refrain from activities with me until you get tested again.”

“Oh, sure. I, uh, don’t really plan on hooking up with anyone else though,” Bokuto says. Then he chews on his lip and asks, “Do you? Wanna hook up with other people, I mean?”

“No, not particularly,” Keiji replies. “I find I’m exhausted enough just trying to keep up with you.”

“AGHAA—wait. Is that a complaint or a compliment?”

“Yes.”

Bokuto lets out a confused huff. “AGHAASHEE! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t think too much about it,” Keiji says, holding back a smile before getting serious again. “The second thing I wanted to say, I suppose is actually more of a question.” More of a worry, really, and Keiji has been hesitant to ask, but he hopes the answer will settle some of his insecurities.

“I’ve been wondering… why do you want to do this with me? I’m sure it wouldn’t be difficult for you to find other partners. Someone you wouldn’t have to teach. Someone who would be less complicated to deal with.”

“Well, maybe. But I dunno. Probably the same reason you wanna do this with me.”

“And what reason do you think that is?”

He shrugs. “We’re friends, and I’m comfortable with you. I trust you.”

Keiji already knows this is one of Bokuto’s weaknesses—he’s _too_ trusting. He lets himself be too open, too vulnerable, and Keiji’s not sure he even realizes this about himself.

“You trust too easily,” Keiji informs him.

“Yeah, I know,” Bokuto sighs, sounding a little frustrated. “It’s gotten me pretty hurt in the past.” Ah, so he does realize it. “But with you—it’s like I said before, you’re real honest. You’re not afraid to tell me if I’m doing something wrong or pissing you off, and you’re not gonna lie and pretend to like me more than you do. Stuff like that.”

“Hmm.”

“And it’s convenient too, since we live together! Like with volleyball I don’t have time for dating and I’m not really into hooking up with people I don’t know, so this is kinda perfect? And everything we’ve done so far has been really good, like the chemistry between us, you know?”

“Hmm,” Keiji says again, which is a pretty tepid reply considering he’s almost overcome with relief that they really are on the same page about all this, that Keiji isn’t alone in feeling the physical magnetism between them, that Bokuto has actually put thought into this and isn’t just going along with it because Keiji asked. That Bokuto _wants_ this, just as much as Keiji does.

“Plus, you’re really hot!” Bokuto declares, and Keiji finds himself fighting an unexpected blush. “And I know you think I am too,” he goes on smugly. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, so don’t try to deny it!”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” he grins. “I’ve worked hard on my body, so I like that you appreciate it.”

“Then I’ll be sure to thoroughly appreciate it,” Keiji informs him. “After dinner.”

Bokuto blinks then his eyes go wide as the implication sinks in. He immediately starts shoveling his food into his mouth with increased fervor.

Keiji makes a sound caught between a sigh and a laugh.

“Bokuto-san, slow _down_. You’re going to _choke_.”

Much to Bokuto’s dismay, Keiji has to finish a homework assignment before they can proceed to the bedroom. 

“Please be patient, Bokuto-san. Surely you have homework to do as well?”

“I _guess_.”

Keiji has decided that while this arrangement with Bokuto might not be a bad decision, fooling around with Bokuto at the expense of failing his classes certainly would be. So, homework first. Keiji retreats to his room to do it, because if he joins Bokuto at the table the probability of distraction is far too high.

(And maybe he rushes through the assignment and doesn’t double-check his answers like he usually does. Maybe Bokuto isn’t the only one feeling a little impatient.)

When he’s finished, he walks back out into the living room. “Bokuto-san? Are you done with your homework?”

“Are you done with yours?”

“Yes, but you should finish—”

Bokuto is already bounding across the living room towards him. “Nah, nope, I’ll do it later.” He wraps his arms around Keiji’s waist and grins at him. “Wanna do this now instead.”

Keiji narrows his eyes. “Don’t blame me for your bad grades.”

“I wont!” he says cheerfully, then he pulls Keiji toward his bedroom. They’re kissing before they even cross the threshold.

Bokuto is backing him through the room when Keiji stops and spins them around. He wants to be the one in control tonight. He breaks the kiss to push Bokuto onto the bed.

“Take off your shirt,” Keiji instructs.

Bokuto grins, eyes bright. “I kinda like it when you tell me what to do.”

Keiji raises an eyebrow. “I like it when you listen,” he says, pointedly looking at Bokuto’s shirt which is still very much on.

Bokuto laughs as he sits up and yanks his shirt off over his head, arms flexing at the motion. And then he’s sitting there, all bare skin and hard muscles, and _god_ his body really is a masterpiece. Keiji feels a wild urge to paint him or sculpt him or do _something_ because surely this vision belongs in a goddamn museum.

Keiji is quiet as he joins him on the bed, straddling his thighs and settling into his lap. Bokuto is already half hard, and Keiji rolls his hips, pressing into him as he runs his hands appreciatively down Bokuto’s arms. He lets his nails drag lightly against the skin and Bokuto shivers under his touch, letting out a soft moan. He’s so _open_ with his reactions, he never tries to hide what he’s feeling or what he likes. It makes Keiji feel bold.

“I also think I would like you telling me what to do,” he confesses. He grips Bokuto’s biceps, relishing in the give of his flesh and the sturdiness of the muscle underneath. “Or maybe you wouldn’t have to tell me,” he muses. “You could just take control. Hold me down. Do what you want.”

“Fuck,” Bokuto breathes, gripping Keiji’s thighs. His pupils are blown wide; he looks a little drunk. “You—you too. You can do whatever you want to me.”

“Whatever I want?” Keiji murmurs, tracing his fingers across Bokuto’s collarbones, down his pecs, grazing his nipples.

“Yes,” he croaks out. “Anything.”

Keiji smirks. “Like I said, you’re too trusting.”

Bokuto’s response is startlingly earnest. “Don’t you trust me, too?”

And the question momentarily floors Keiji. Not because it’s entirely unexpected, but because he realizes his answer is _yes_. He does trust Bokuto. Probably more than he’s ever trusted anyone else.

“I do,” he admits quietly, then he quickly moves on, because Bokuto might be good at this whole vulnerability thing but Keiji is definitely _not_. “Would you let me tie you up?”

Bokuto’s eyes widen. “Is that something you’re into?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never done it before, obviously. But I’ve always been intrigued by the aesthetics of shibari. I might want to give it a try, if you’re willing. I think you would look quite good in rope.” Bokuto’s cock twitches underneath him. “I felt that,” Keiji teases. “Is it the idea of rope? Or perhaps me praising you?”

“God, both?”

Keiji hums. “Good to know. Now please lie down,” he says, using both hands to push on Bokuto’s shoulders so he’s lying flat against the mattress. Then he backs up, crawling off the bed so he can unbutton Bokuto’s jeans and toss them aside. When he has Bokuto down to his boxers, Keiji climbs back on top of him and leans in to give him one more deep kiss before starting his descent.

He takes his time kissing his way down Bokuto’s chest. He told Bokuto he was going to thoroughly appreciate his body, and Keiji intends to honor that pledge. So he’s in no rush as he trails his lips over Bokuto’s neck, his collarbones. He drags his hands over Bokuto’s shoulders and arms, gripping hard then letting his fingertips ghost across the skin. He teases his tongue over his nipples, spending a little extra time there because Bokuto’s reactions are just too good—his breathing goes a little shallow and he groans, tipping his head back into the pillow and giving Keiji a gorgeous view of his exposed throat, the sharp line of his jaw. He really is unfairly beautiful.

He kisses down the soft trail of hair on Bokuto’s stomach, then palms Bokuto’s length through his boxers as he shifts lower to kiss and lick at the smooth skin of his inner thigh. God, he has great thighs. Eventually Bokuto is making low whining noises and Keiji can feel his muscles tensing under his lips with the effort of restraint. That’s probably enough teasing, then. He slides his fingers into the waistband of Bokuto’s boxers and slowly, slowly, pulls them down and off, freeing his throbbing erection.

Keiji settles himself between Bokuto’s legs. He feels… not nervous, but something almost like it. Restless. Charged. Electric with anticipation.

Over the last four days Keiji has gotten four very good blowjobs, and he’s been itching to try it out himself. He almost gave in to desire last night while jerking Bokuto off. He was so tempted to lean down for a taste, but his last scrap of self-control won out and he told himself to have patience. Just wait. The time will come.

And now, the time is here.

There’s no hesitance to his touch as he wraps his fingers around Bokuto’s cock. Keiji is starting to learn what Bokuto likes, what makes his breath hitch, what makes his toes curl. He strokes a few times as a warmup and then he feels ready to begin.

He starts by licking a line up Bokuto’s length, flicking his tongue against the underside of the head. Bokuto is already making choked off moaning noises. Good. 

The first time Bokuto did this to him, Keiji’s mind went blank and he retained nothing in the way of technique or tactic. But the next few times Keiji was able to pay more attention, focus on what exactly Bokuto was doing that felt so goddamn good. And he thinks he as a fairly decent idea of what to do now.

He slips the head of Bokuto’s cock past his lips, swirling his tongue around the softer flesh and giving an experimental suck. He tastes a little salty, but mostly he just tastes like skin and that distinct flavor that is naturally Bokuto. Keiji lets saliva pool in his mouth then spill down Bokuto’s length. It’s messy, but from the whimpering sounds Bokuto is making, he seems to like it. And okay, Keiji does too. He finds himself jerking his hips unconsciously, seeking friction.

Bokuto’s thighs are shaking; Keiji grabs onto them for his own balance and to keep Bokuto still. He sinks down onto Bokuto’s cock slowly, carefully, making sure to keep his jaw relaxed and his teeth uninvolved.

There’s no way he can fit the entire thing into his mouth, so he brings one hand to stroke the base, using his own spit as lube. He tries to go as far down as he can, but when the head of Bokuto’s cock nudges the back of his throat, he feels like gagging, so he doesn’t push. There must be a trick to fitting him deeper down his throat. He’ll figure it out, and he’ll be better next time.

For now he focuses on what he can reach, sucking and licking; swirling his tongue around then pressing it flat against the slit to taste the pre-cum that leaks out. If Bokuto’s moans and gasps are any indication, he seems to be enjoying it. He has one hand fisted in the sheets and the other resting on Keiji’s head—not pushing, but occasionally pulling on his hair a little which sends shivers down Keiji’s spine and makes him that much more desperate for his own release.

Keiji doesn’t know if he’s ever been so hard in his life. The visual of Bokuto’s body spread out in front of him, the soft sounds Bokuto keeps making, the fingers in his hair—it’s all going straight to Keiji’s dick. And then there’s the rush of power, the thrill of making Bokuto gasp and pant and squirm. Because Bokuto—this magnetic force of a man with the body of a god—has been reduced to a writhing, whimpering mess, and it’s all Keiji’s doing.

“Kaashi—gonna come,” Bokuto gasps, tugging on his hair a little like he’s trying to pull Keiji off of him.

And Keiji had been intending to let Bokuto finish in his mouth, but at the last second his bravery wavers. He doesn’t think he’s ready to try to swallow, not right now, not this time. So his lips leave Bokuto’s cock with a pop and Keiji quickly strokes him as he comes, spilling over his stomach with a groan.

As Bokuto catches his breath, Keiji leans over to the bedside table to grab a few tissues to wipe him off. Then he lets Bokuto kiss him and pull him close against the side of his body, even though he’s all sticky and sweaty. Keiji is the one who made him that way, so he supposes it’s only fair. Bokuto wraps an arm around him so his hand is in Keiji’s hair, fingers nestled in his dark curls. Keiji resists the urge to rut against Bokuto’s thigh; he’s still _very_ hard.

“Wow,” Bokuto says eventually. “That was—wow.”

“I’ll be better next time,” Keiji says. His jaw is tired, but he doesn’t mind the ache of it, like being a little sore after a good workout.

“Better? Kaashi, _fuck_ , that was already—amazing. I just—how?! Why are you so good at everything?!”

“Hmm,” Keiji says, feeling relieved and pleased. He kisses Bokuto’s neck to hide his smile. “Perhaps I have a good teacher.”

Bokuto lets out a long breath, closing his eyes and leaning his head back into the pillow. “How are you even real?” his voice is low, like he’s talking more to himself than to Keiji.

Keiji almost laughs. “Actually, there’s a theory that everything we’re experiencing is in fact a simulation, so—”

“Nope, okay,” Bokuto interrupts, pulling away suddenly. “Time for you to shut up.”

And then Keiji finds himself flipped onto his back, hands pinned above him with incredible ease. He gasps out a soft, “Oh.”

Bokuto looks down at him with a wolfish grin. “Are you ready for your next lesson?”


	14. Study Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [I Dare You by The Regrettes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yf7TWUJlCTQ)

Keiji has never considered himself to be a very sexual person. Sure, he’s watched porn and read erotica and he’ll masturbate every few days or so. But seeking sexual release has never been a driving factor in his life, and seeking a sexual partner even less so. It was never something he prioritized, it was never something he _craved_.

Until Bokuto.

It only takes a week for them to fall into a new routine. During the day, Keiji spends his time at class and work, as usual. But now there’s a certain amount of… restlessness to his afternoons. An eagerness for the hours to pass, for the sun to go down, for Bokuto to come home.

In the evenings, Keiji will cook dinner, and they’ll eat and talk and maybe do some homework, either together or separately. But one way or another, they’ll end up naked in Bokuto’s bed, where Keiji can finally find relief for the anticipation that’s been building all day. They’ll get each other off, they’ll clean up, then Keiji will walk across the hall to his own room to sleep.

He wakes up every morning already looking forward to the night.

And just like that, it’s become a habit. Or maybe something closer to a compulsion. Because now that they’ve started this thing between them, Keiji doesn’t know how he’s ever going to be able to stop. Because the most surprising thing about all this is that it’s not _only_ about release, it’s not just getting off.

It’s _fun_.

Even less so than being a sexual person, Keiji has never considered himself to be a very affectionate person. But he’s gotten so comfortable around Bokuto, and it’s just too easy. Bokuto seems to have taken Keiji’s declaration of _when we’re in the apartment you can do whatever you want to me_ to mean _touch me all the time_ , which is not exactly what Keiji had in mind when he said that, but he’d be lying if he denied enjoying the casual physical contact.

When Keiji is cooking, Bokuto will come up behind him to wrap his arms around Keiji’s waist and nuzzle his face into Keiji’s neck. When they’re eating dinner, Bokuto will tangle their legs together under the table. When Keiji is on the couch reading, Bokuto will sit next to him and pull Keiji against his chest or lift Keiji’s legs across his lap—not stealing attention away from his book, just providing a comfortable warmth to lean into while he reads.

It’s… nice.

It’s really fucking nice.

As they get more comfortable with each other, they get more playful in the bedroom, bolder about suggesting things they want to explore and experiment with.

On an otherwise unremarkable Thursday, Bokuto lets Keiji tie him up. 

Bokuto provides his old high school uniform tie, blue striped with white, and Keiji knots it carefully around his wrists, securing them behind his back. Then he spends a good twenty minutes touching and teasing and licking and sucking until Bokuto is losing his mind, whining, “Kaaaashiiii, wanna touch you!”

When Keiji finally frees him, Bokuto’s hands are desperate and _everywhere_ —grabbing, squeezing, stroking, madly. And Keiji quickly comes undone under his touch.

Overall, it’s a rather nice Thursday.

“Is there anything you’d like to try?” Keiji asks one night as they kiss up against the hallway wall on their way to Bokuto’s room.

“Hmmm,” he says considering, then he blushes a little as an idea seems to strike. “Can I fuck your thighs?” he asks, running his hands down Keiji’s ass to grip said thighs. “Your legs are _really_ nice.”

Keiji feels his face get hot. He didn’t even know that was something he wanted until Bokuto suggested it.

He nods in affirmation. “How do you want me?”

And that’s how Keiji ends up on his knees with Bokuto behind him, holding him upright and thrusting into his lubed up thighs. Keiji lifts an arm to tangle his fingers in Bokuto’s hair, while Bokuto reaches around to pump Keiji’s dick.

He comes when Bokuto does, the other man’s muffled groan of _Aghasheee_ into the back of Keiji’s neck tipping him over the edge.

It only takes one shower together to discover that showering together is a bad idea.

“You’re hogging all the water,” Keiji accuses, shivering slightly as a few stray droplets hit his shoulders.

Their shower is too small for this. Or maybe Bokuto is just too big.

“Then let’s switch spots!” Bokuto doesn’t wait for a response, he just wraps his wet arms around Keiji and spins them around, feet squeaking against the floor, to place Keiji directly under the showerhead where he is promptly soaked.

“Better?” Bokuto asks, grinning like an idiot, wet hair framing his face and falling into his eyes.

Keiji huffs and pinches Bokuto’s arm; he lets out a little squeal.

This is another new habit. Sometimes, when Keiji feels a surge of affection for Bokuto, he’ll want desperately to kiss him, so he’ll pinch him instead, because that feels much safer and less revealing. And besides, after pinching him, Bokuto will usually lean down and kiss Keiji anyways, so Keiji gets what he wants in the end.

At the moment Bokuto is too busy shampooing his hair to lean in for a kiss, so Keiji just stands under the water and watches, vaguely annoyed at how _cute_ Bokuto looks covered in bubbles. Then they switch spots so Bokuto can rinse off and Keiji is annoyed all over again because the way the sudsy water streaks down Bokuto’s chest and abs, the way he lifts his arms to run his hands through his hair…

It’s a dangerous visual.

Keiji closes his eyes, trying to fill his head with chaste thoughts. He should still be worn out from earlier. They’re not even kissing or touching right now. He is not going to get an erection just from _looking_ at Bokuto. He’s _not_.

He reaches for the shampoo to distract himself, but Bokuto snatches the bottle away and pours some into his own hand.

“Lemme do it!” he offers, and he starts massaging the shampoo into Keiji’s hair. And just like that, Keiji can’t find it in himself to feel a trace of annoyance anymore. He sighs and lets his eyes flutter shut as Bokuto’s thick fingers gently rub against his scalp.

“…That feels nice,” Keiji admits, melting at the touch. At least he has an excuse for his erection now.

And Bokuto just hums happily and keeps up with his ministrations, first taking care of Keiji’s hair, and then taking care of his erection.

So okay maybe showering together does have its upsides.

By late October, Keiji is spending more time studying Bokuto’s body than he does studying for any one class. Still, his grades don’t slip, which is honestly a little irritating. He’s spending less time on school work and still pulling As—so was he just unnecessarily wasting his time and effort before?

Though it’s not like he’s taking _that_ much time away from his homework. Both Keiji and Bokuto are busy for most of the day—school, work, practice. So it’s maybe an hour a night they spend together in Bokuto’s bed. Maybe a few hours on weekends when they don’t have class and can indulge in each other’s bodies for longer.

It’s not a big deal. It’s only maybe sort of Keiji’s favorite part of every day.

Then Keiji has a bad day, and the routine breaks.

Work is _awful_. Shirofuku is out sick, so Keiji gets pressured into staying later to help cover the early evening rush. With Shirofuku absent, that also means Keiji is the one stuck training their newest hire. And Yachi is sweet and all, but training her would certainly be easier if she wasn’t seemingly terrified of everything from the cash register to the espresso machine to the customers.

Though he can’t really blame her for that last one, especially after one woman spends five minutes straight yelling at the both of them because she wanted _almond milk not soy milk is everyone working here an idiot?!_ After fixing the drink he has to spend another five minutes reassuring Yachi that _it’s fine, really, you don’t have to quit, you don’t have to move to Antarctica, here let me show you how to make a matcha latte, it’s quite easy._

And that goes pretty well, all things considered, up until Yachi trips and spills the matcha latte all over Keiji.

So he wipes himself off and spends another five minutes reassuring Yachi that _I promise I don’t hate you, please don’t move to Antarctica, it’s fine, really_ and all he can think about is that after he’s done with this shift from hell he has to go home and write a stupid essay he’s been procrastinating all week, because it’s due tomorrow and really he should be writing it _now_ but he’s stuck at work, which again, is _awful_.

(And okay the _all he can think about_ part is a little bit of a lie, because he is also thinking about Bokuto, and all the ways they could be touching each other, but that’s kind of a constant thought at this point, and unfortunately the anxiety about this essay is louder in his head than his memories of being in Bokuto’s bed.)

He’s exhausted when he finally gets back to the apartment. The ten flights of stairs have never taken so much out of him. He slumps through the door, leaning bodily against the wall to take off his shoes.

“Aghaaasheeee! Welcome home!” comes the call from the living room, and Keiji exhales, feeling like he can breathe again.

Instead of going directly to his room to drop off his bag and change clothes like he normally does, he ditches his bag halfway down the hallway as he walks straight to the living room. Bokuto is sitting at the table doing homework. He glances up and smiles when he sees Keiji.

“Hey, hey! How was work?”

Keiji doesn’t reply, he just drops to his knees on the sitting pillow beside Bokuto and throws his arms over Bokuto’s shoulders, burying his face in his neck.

“Uhhhhh, Kaashi?” Bokuto asks, sounding surprised and a little worried, which is understandable. Keiji rarely initiates affection, and even when he does it’s never like this, never so clingy. Bokuto lifts his hands to gently rub Keiji’s back. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm.”

“You smell like matcha.”

Keiji lets out a breathy sort of half-laugh half-sob. “I’m aware.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Keiji says, and with each passing second it becomes more true. “Work was stressful. But I’m fine now.” He pulls out of the hug but keeps his hands on Bokuto’s arms because he’s not ready to give up all physical contact just yet. He bites on his lip. “Dinner will likely be late tonight. I have to shower, then write an essay.”

“That’s okay!” Bokuto says with a sweet smile. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“I’ll be quick,” Keiji says as he pushes himself back up to his feet.

He’s not quick.

His procrastination has finally caught up with him, and his anxiety is starting to spiral. He’s definitely going to bomb this essay and fail this class and flunk out of college and then he’ll have to move to Antarctica and—

A knock at the door interrupts his descent into panic. He glances at the clock and _shit_ it’s already past 10. He’s not even halfway done with the essay. And now Bokuto is going to come barging in demanding attention and Keiji is going to have to turn him down and he’s probably going to pout and Keiji is going to feel even worse and—

Stop. Breathe.

“Come in,” he says.

The door opens and Bokuto sticks his head inside. “Hey, hey! You seemed pretty busy so I, uh, made you food. I hope you don’t mind.”

_Mind?_ Keiji feels like his brain glitches out for a second. If he hadn’t spent nearly two decades perfecting his unbreakable stoic expression, this right here would surely break it into pieces. Even as it is, he’s not completely sure his eyes aren’t watering.

“No,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

“It’s just omurice!” Bokuto says, crossing the room to Keiji’s desk. “So it’s not really healthy like what you usually make, but you gotta eat something!”

“Yes,” he says, and he realizes just how hungry he is as he takes the proffered plate. It smells delicious, and looks even better—all fluffy yellow eggs and steaming rice, decorated with a ketchup smiley face.

Keiji swallows. “I’m sorry I don’t have time for you tonight.”

“S’alright! You have Sunday off, yeah?”

“Yes.”

Bokuto smiles. “Then we can make up for it then!”

“Okay.”

“Okay!” Bokuto says, then he grabs Keiji’s face and kisses him once on the mouth then again on the forehead. “Write your essay! And don’t stay up too late! You gotta sleep too!”

Keiji hums and nods and watches as Bokuto leaves the room.

Then he takes a bite of food and turns back to his essay with a renewed sense of focus, except for the section of his brain that is now obsessively thinking of all the things he’s planning to do to Bokuto come Sunday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nooo don't move to antarctica ur so sexy ahah


	15. Research Methods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Want You In My Room by Carly Rae Jepsen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ELzgEvk31dk)

Keiji wakes up Sunday morning far more excited than he usually does, even for a day off. The last few nights, Bokuto and Keiji have had hardly any time together, but today they’ll have hours and hours with nothing else demanding their attention. Keiji is practically buzzing with anticipation.

Bokuto still has morning practice, so Keiji drinks his coffee in the quiet apartment and finishes up his last few assignments for the weekend. He’s getting ahead on his reading for Modern Japanese Lit when he hears keys turning in the front door.

“Aghasheee! I’m hoooome!” Bokuto calls as he lets himself in and makes his way down the hall. When he gets to the living room he practically leaps onto the couch, manhandling Keiji into an affectionate hug and nuzzling his face into Keiji’s neck, placing a few soft kisses there.

“Welcome home, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says, dropping his book so he can run his fingers through Bokuto’s hair, absently breaking pieces free from their gelled-up position. Even when Bokuto showers after practice he either doesn’t get his hair wet or re-styles it immediately, so Keiji only ever sees Bokuto with his hair down in their apartment. He likes that, though; likes that he’s the only one who gets to see Bokuto that way.

“How was practice?”

“Long.”

Keiji glances at the clock. “Was it not at the same time as usual?”

“Felt longer,” Bokuto says, letting his hands slip up Keiji’s shirt, pressing fingers into his skin. “Been thinking about this all morning. Took a set to the face earlier ‘cause I was so distracted.”

Keiji huffs out a laugh. “I see. Were you thinking about anything in particular?”

Bokuto hums and leans in to kiss Keiji’s neck again, and for a second it seems he’s not going to answer, but then his breath is hot against Keiji’s ear as he asks in a low voice, “Can I finger you?”

Keiji feels himself blushing. Bokuto might be shy about discussing sexual things over the dinner table, but Keiji is the one who gets flustered when Bokuto’s lips are brushing his skin as he tells Keiji exactly what he wants to do like it’s a dirty little secret.

“Okay,” Keiji says, and he finds he’s more eager than nervous, even though they’ve never done this before. They’ve done just about everything else they can do without any kind of penetration. But this—this will be new.

“Okay,” Bokuto echoes into Keiji’s skin, and Keiji can feel him grinning against his neck. “Bed?”

“Bed,” Keiji confirms, and then Bokuto is scooping him up and carrying him down the hall to his room.

They fall onto the mattress together, kissing each other deeply and pulling apart only to remove articles of clothing. When they’re both down to their underwear, Bokuto leans over to rummage through the bedside table for the bottle of lube.

“Have you done this to yourself before?” he asks.

“I have,” Keiji admits. “Though not often.”

“Do you not like it?”

“No, it’s more that the, ah, angle is awkward,” Keiji explains. “It’s difficult to make myself feel good that way.”

Bokuto grins. “I think I can help with that.”

“Hmm. We’ll see,” Keiji says mildly, like his dick isn’t throbbing at the thought.

Bokuto’s eyes flash at the implied challenge. He grabs Keiji by his hips to position him as he sees fit, then he peels off Keiji’s boxer briefs, tossing them aside before hitching one of Keiji’s legs over his shoulder. Keiji watches, biting his lip to hold back a smile at Bokuto’s expression of focus. It’s a familiar thing now, having Bokuto like this between his thighs.

Less familiar is the feel of Bokuto’s finger pressing gently against his hole. Keiji gives an involuntary jolt.

“You gotta relax a little, Kaashi,” Bokuto says, and without further preamble he leans forward and takes Keiji’s cock into his mouth.

Keiji gasps, the sudden wet heat making him feel a little dizzy with pleasure. “That’s—not exactly relaxing,” he says, panting and gripping the sheets. Bokuto hums around his length, and Keiji shivers at the vibration.

Keiji hears the click of the bottle opening, and a moment later Bokuto’s slicked up finger is again pressing at his entrance. It’s not as startling this time, not with Bokuto’s mouth still wrapped around his cock. Bokuto circles the pad of his finger around Keiji’s rim before slowly pressing in.

He takes his time, working the tip of his finger in then out, to the first knuckle, the second, all the way. Then Bokuto curls his finger and drags it across a spot that makes Keiji see stars.

“Oh my god,” Keiji gasps as he throws his head back.

Bokuto finally lifts his mouth off Keiji’s cock to say, “There we go…”

He continues moving his finger in and out until it’s sliding easily, no more resistance. Then slowly, he adds a second lubed up finger. The stretch is a bit uncomfortable at first, but with Bokuto’s gentle motions, Keiji gets used to it quickly. Even when it hurts a little, it’s a good kind of hurt, like the satisfying burn of sore muscles.

Bokuto kisses Keiji’s thigh as he continues to work his fingers, methodically plunging in then pressing up to rub his prostate, leaving Keiji moaning and impulsively rocking down onto his hand. His brain can’t latch onto any coherent thought; he’s lost entirely in what he’s feeling, his body trembling under the steady waves of pleasure.

“I really like seeing you lose your composure,” Bokuto says in a low voice as he uses his other hand to start stroking Keiji’s cock in time with the thrust of his fingers. “Like watching you fall apart under my hands…”

Falling apart seems like an understatement. Keiji—who is exceptional at Japanese, fluent in English, and passable at Korean—is currently about three seconds away from permanently forgetting all language ever.

He’s too far gone, drowning in the sensations of Bokuto’s fingers stroking and sliding and curling. He can feel his muscles tensing, the pressure inside him building, swelling, bursting.

“B-Boku-ohhh,” Keiji can’t even choke out his name before he comes. With a gasp and groan he’s spilling all over himself as Bokuto’s hands continue to work their magic, carrying Keiji through the final pulses of his orgasm.

When he blearily opens his eyes, he sees that Bokuto has his boxers pushed down around his thighs as he quickly strokes himself. From the sounds he’s making, he’s already close, and Keiji still wants to be involved.

“Come on my chest,” Keiji suggests, and Bokuto grunts and just barely shifts his position in time to do so. Warmth splatters over Keiji’s stomach, Bokuto’s cum mixing with his own.

They both struggle to catch their breath for a few seconds, then Bokuto reaches for some tissues to clean Keiji up a bit. He tosses them into the trashcan by the bed and flops down on the mattress, snuggling close to Keiji.

“How was that?” he asks, kissing Keiji’s shoulder.

Keiji doesn’t have the energy to act cool about it. “Amazing,” he breathes.

Bokuto lets out a low laugh, wrapping his arms tighter around Keiji’s waist as he presses his lips into Keiji’s neck and says, “You can do that to me later if you want.”

And if Keiji weren’t so utterly spent the thought alone would be enough to get him hard again.

They shower and eat lunch, then spend an hour or so lounging on their couch, catching up on a few episodes of the anime they’ve started watching together. Eventually their lazy cuddling progresses into more purposeful groping, and they decide to move things back to the bedroom.

Between kisses, they strip each other down, and then it’s Keiji’s turn to demonstrate what he’s learned.

“Are you ready?” he asks, popping the cap on the bottle of lube.

“Are _you_ ready?” Bokuto throws back.

“I know what I’m doing. I have researched this extensively, you know.”

“That’s a really nerdy way to say you’ve watched a lot of porn.”

“I have also read instructional blog posts.”

Bokuto tips his head back against the pillow and laughs.

Keiji frowns. “Don’t make me gag you.”

“Is that something you’re into?” Bokuto asks, wagging his eyebrows.

“Not in a sexual way,” Keiji replies, considering. “But perhaps in a living-with-Bokuto-san way.”

“Hey!” he squawks indignantly.

Keiji leans down to kiss his pout away, then kisses him again just because he wants to. “Scoot up. Spread your legs.”

Bokuto complies, and Keiji settles between his thighs. He pours a generous amount of lube onto his hand, rubbing his fingers together to warm up the liquid.

Then, carefully, he drags his finger across Bokuto’s entrance, slicking lube around the rim before slowly moving in past the ring of muscle. There’s little resistance as he pushes his finger in to the first knuckle, then the second.

_God_ , it’s almost like he’s being sucked into Bokuto’s body, engulfed in that blazing heat. Keiji slides his finger halfway out then in again, reveling in the way Bokuto’s body accepts him. For a moment he imagines thrusting his length into that tight warmth and his dick throbs, aching with want at the thought.

“You’re so hot,” Keiji breathes.

“ _You’re_ hot.”

Keiji smiles against his thigh. “I meant temperature wise.”

“O-oh.”

“Though you are also very sexy.” Keiji runs his free hand up Bokuto’s thigh, letting his nails drag a little. “Especially like this.”

“Yeah?”

Keiji hums in affirmation, a very mild response compared to the thoughts in his head. Because Bokuto looks fucking magnificent like this—spread out before him, hair down and damp with sweat so it’s sticking to his face, his dick flushed pink and leaking on his stomach with Keiji’s finger disappearing inside of him.

If Keiji could sear this image into his brain he’d never have to look at porn again.

After another minute, he slips in a second finger, working them both in and out a few times before curving them up. Bokuto moans, his breath stuttering, and Keiji figures he’s found the right spot. He repeats the motion again, then again, then again, finding a steady rhythm. He starts rubbing his thumb over the perineum, trying to stimulate Bokuto’s prostate from the outside, too.

Bokuto is panting and writhing under Keiji’s hands when a thought strikes.

“Can you come like this?” Keiji asks, eyeing Bokuto’s untouched cock.

“I—dunno,” Bokuto chokes out between breaths. “Never have—before but—that feels— _oh_.”

And suddenly Keiji doesn’t care that his hand is getting tired, because now he has a mission. He wasn’t sure if Bokuto had any firsts left, but he _does_ , and Keiji can claim this one.

Keiji will be the first one to make him come like this.

He picks up his pace, sliding his fingers in and out then curling them up to push against Bokuto’s prostate. Slide, slide, press. Faster. Slide, press, slide, press. Harder. Slide and press; slide and press. Again, _again_.

Bokuto’s breath is hitching, his body is tensing. He’s close, Keiji can tell. _Almost there._

Keiji pulses his fingers relentlessly against that spot, and murmurs into Bokuto’s thigh, “Come for me.”

And he does.

He groans, back arching as his release spills over his stomach. Keiji continues his ministrations through Bokuto's orgasm, muscles clenching around Keiji’s fingers. Then he pulls his hand free so he can touch himself, pushing to his knees, hunched over Bokuto. It only takes a few hurried clumsy strokes and then he’s coming too, white streaks painting Bokuto’s body.

They’re both breathing hard, and Keiji takes a second to appreciate his work. Bokuto is a fucking mess—sweaty, disheveled, cum smeared all over his chest and stomach—and Keiji thrills at the fact that _he’s_ the one who made him look like this.

He dips his head down to give Bokuto a kiss. “I told you I knew what I was doing,” he says with a little smirk.

“Wow,” Bokuto says, all breathy and blissed-out as his lips stretch into a lazy smile. “I’ll never doubt your research methods again.”

After cleaning up, they stay in bed for a while, naked bodies tangled together, legs entwined under covers. Eventually they’ll have to get up and do something about dinner, but for now they’re content to just hold each other.

“I like this,” Bokuto murmurs, running his fingers through Keiji’s hair. “I’m really glad we’re doin this.”

And Keiji knows he doesn’t only mean _this right now_ but rather _this, all of it, everything_. And Keiji also knows that Bokuto doesn’t expect a response, because Keiji doesn’t usually reply when he says things like that.

But he wants Bokuto to know.

So he presses himself even closer, hand resting on Bokuto’s stomach and cheek against his chest as he confesses in a quiet voice, “Yes. Me too.”


	16. Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Shameless by Camila Cabello](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3cNao-p6DnA)

Of all the things Bokuto has talked him into, this has to be the worst.

“I’m not wearing that.”

“Aghaasheee!”

“I agreed to go to the party. I did not agree to wearing a costume.”

“It’s a Halloween party! You gotta!”

“I most certainly do not.”

Bokuto pouts, which always looks a little ridiculous due to his size and build, but especially so right now when he’s dressed like a superhero. The volleyball team members have agreed on a group costume, so they’re all going as characters from My Hero Academia. Bokuto is dressed as All Might, which means he’s wearing a very tight spandex unitard, which Keiji… doesn’t hate.

But he’s trying to get Keiji to wear his _volleyball uniform_ —jersey, shorts, kneepads, _everything_. And perhaps if he only wanted Keiji to wear it in the bedroom for _him_ he could be persuaded. But wearing it to a party that half their school is attending? Wearing it in front of Bokuto’s teammates and Keiji’s coworkers and all of their classmates? It’s the very definition of a bad idea. Not only is it surely against the volleyball team’s code of conduct, but Bokuto clearly hasn’t considered the implications of Keiji walking around in Bokuto’s clothes with Bokuto’s name branded across his back.

“It’s not going to happen,” Keiji informs him. “We can continue arguing about it if you’d like, but you will not win.”

He huffs. “Fine! But if you feel left out ‘cause you’re the only one not wearing a costume, you can’t get mad at me!”

“Fair enough.”

Keiji is not the only person not wearing a costume, though most people _are_ dressed up. Still, Keiji is totally fine with being in the minority on this one.

The party is being held in a large event venue, the type used for wedding receptions and extravagant birthday parties. There’s pounding music and strobe lights and a bar area for people of age to buy drinks. As Keiji takes in the Halloween-themed decorations he realizes he doesn’t even know who’s hosting this thing. He’s only here because Bokuto begged and agreed to the stipulation that Keiji will not, under any circumstances, be dancing.

As soon as they get inside, Keiji and Bokuto make their way to the volleyball team’s designated meeting spot off in one corner. Apparently they want to get a group picture before the night dissolves into chaos and they start sweating through their costumes.

Keiji doesn’t know most of Bokuto’s teammates, but there are a few familiar faces—Oikawa is in a pink and black jumpsuit and hanging all over Iwaizumi, who’s wearing a spiky blonde wig and dressed in black and orange. It’s also easy to spot Hinata, wearing a green wig and a matching uniform as he bounces around excitedly. Then Keiji sees Tsukishima, standing off to the side of the main group.

“No costume?” Keiji asks, coming up next to him.

He gives his head a little shake. “I had enough trouble helping Kuroo with his.”

It takes Keiji a minute to pick out Kuroo in the crowd—he has disembodied hands attached all over his body, including one covering most of his face. “I see.”

“Kuroo doesn’t,” Tsukishima says with a smirk. “He keeps walking into walls.”

After coercing Keiji and Tsukishima into taking a few dozen group photos, the volleyball team splits up as everyone heads out to the dance floor. Tsukishima joins them, dragged along by Kuroo, while Bokuto lingers back, staying behind with Keiji. 

The two of them settle down in one of the seating areas that overlooks the dance floor, and Bokuto makes no move to leave him. Even when a girl from one of Bokuto’s classes stops by to say hi and ask him to dance. He declines, and as soon as she walks away he jumps right back into the story he was telling Keiji about something ridiculous Oikawa did in practice the other day.

And a part of Keiji is grateful that Bokuto is unwilling to ditch him. But mostly it just makes him feel anxious. Keiji is the type to be more comfortable at the edge of the room, but Bokuto is _not_. He should be out there with his friends, dancing and having fun, not sitting in the shadows with his anti-social roommate.

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji starts, fiddling with his fingers. “Don’t you want to go dance with your friends?”

He shrugs. “I’m okay here!”

Keiji sighs. “Bokuto-san. I’ve told you before, I don’t want you to change your behavior because of me. In fact, I will be unhappy if you do. You should go. Treat this like you would any other party.” He still looks hesitant, so Keiji grabs his arm and pulls him out of his seat, giving him a little push toward the dance floor. “I promise, I’ll survive without you by my side for a few hours.”

Bokuto laughs a little. “Okay, okay! But… come get me if you wanna go home?”

“I will.”

Bokuto grins then goes out to join Kuroo and Tsukishima, dancing wildly to the thumping music, and Keiji feels relieved to see that he finally looks like he’s having _fun_. Before long Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and a few more members of the volleyball team join them. Hinata keeps jumping high into the air and waving his arms around as he talks to Bokuto. It looks like Bokuto is teaching him some kind of dance move. It’s… _cute_. 

Keiji smiles a little to himself as he watches. Maybe he’ll be bold enough to join them in a bit after all, anti-dancing stipulations be damned. Bokuto can probably persuade him if he tries. All it takes is those puppy dog eyes and a well placed pout and Keiji’s resistance starts to crumble. He must never let Bokuto become aware of how much power he holds over him.

After a while Tsukishima manages to escape from the group for a break. He sits on the sidelines with Keiji, and they trade snarky comments about their friends and complaints about work. He’s not terrible company. It’s not the worst party Keiji has ever been to.

When their conversation lulls, Keiji spends some more time watching the crowd. Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s dancing has gotten more obscene as the night has gone on; they’re practically grinding on each other at this point. It’s probably for the best that no one under the age of eighteen has been let in. Kuroo has lost a few detached hands from his costume—god only knows where those have ended up. Hinata and Kageyama are—well, Keiji can’t quite tell if they’re dancing or fighting, but whatever it is, they’re doing it together.

Then he catches another glimpse of Bokuto through the crowd. He’s dancing with a girl in a frilly maid costume, and Keiji watches as she loops an arm around Bokuto’s neck and pulls him closer. Then she’s kissing him. And Bokuto is kissing her back.

Keiji abruptly looks away. It doesn’t matter. He told Bokuto to behave as he usually does, and Bokuto likes to kiss people at parties. Keiji knows this. It’s just kissing. It doesn’t affect their arrangement at all. It doesn’t affect Keiji at all.

Except it fucking _does_ affect Keiji, viscerally, distressingly. He feels hot all over, in a feverish, stomach-churning way. And he _hates_ it.

For a wild impulsive second he entertains the thought of interrupting. What would happen if he walked over there and pulled Bokuto’s attention back to him? Would Bokuto let Keiji slide an arm around his neck and kiss him instead?

He shakes the thought away. The hypotheticals don’t matter. It won’t ever happen. Because Keiji doesn’t do that sort of thing. He has no right to interrupt. It’s not his place.

So instead he stands up and informs Tsukishima, “I’m leaving.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”  


“Don’t you want to… tell Bokuto-san?”

“No,” Keiji says sharply. “I doubt he’ll get so drunk he forgets where he lives.” A pause, then a sigh. “But message me if he does.”

Because while there’s a stupid part of him that’s mad, there’s also a stupid part of him that’s still predisposed to take care of Bokuto. It’s all so stupid. The cool air outside will help clear his mind.

The cool air outside does not help clear his mind. If anything, his thoughts are only louder now that he’s alone. He walks home, sulking like a goddamn idiot. He doesn’t want to date Bokuto. He just doesn’t want Bokuto to date anyone else either. Which is unfair, and irrational, and he doesn’t want to feel this way but _fuck_ he can’t help feeling this way.

Their arrangement isn’t meant for the long term. It’s a fucking time bomb, and it could blow up in any number of ways—when one of them moves out, or moves on, or wants to pursue a relationship with someone else, or otherwise grows tired of all this. It’s not a forever kind of thing. It never was, and it never will be, and Keiji _knew_ this from the beginning. So why does it feel like he’s only now realizing that they have an expiration date?

He gets home and changes into pajamas, then he sits down on his bed with a book and proceeds to read the same page over and over again, eyes scanning over the words while his brain retains nothing. He spends maybe twenty minutes stewing in his anxiety and anger before he hears keys slotting into the front door.

Bokuto is home, much earlier than expected. Keiji listens to the muffled sounds of stumbling and struggling in the genkan and for a terrifying moment he holds his breath, trying to make out if those are the noises of one person or two.

Then there are heavy footsteps in the hall and a call of, “Kaaaaashiiiiii!” 

Keiji’s relief is almost a tangible thing, tugging in his chest. Bokuto didn’t go home with someone else, he didn’t bring someone else home. He’s here, he’s _here_ , and he’s knocking on Keiji’s bedroom door. Keiji takes a deep breath before he swings it open, keeping his face carefully blank.

“Yes, Bokuto-san?” He’s proud of himself when his voice comes out steady.

Bokuto folds his arms over his chest like a petulant child. “You left!”

“I wasn’t having a good time.”

“But you didn’t even tell me you were going!”

“You were busy,” he says drily, and he decides he might as well be direct about it, so he adds, “I didn’t want to interrupt you when you were kissing someone else. That’s not my place.”

“Aghaasheee! You told me—”

“I know what I told you.”

He pouts a little. “Then why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Keiji says. He’s _furious_ with himself.

“Come on, you know I’d rather kiss you!” Bokuto reaches out, grabbing Keiji’s hip to pull him a little closer, and Keiji lets him, because he’s weak. “But I didn’t think you would let me at the party.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

“Well, we’re not at the party anymore…” he says, rubbing his thumb over Keiji’s hip bone and lifting his eyebrows in question.

And a petty part of Keiji wants to deny him, wants to punish him for kissing someone else, as irrational and unfair as it is. But the part that simply _wants_ him is stronger. Desire hums in his veins and reigns victorious. He fists the front of Bokuto’s stupidly tight spandex shirt and pulls him in, crashing their lips together.

He tastes like beer and something sweet that might be lipgloss, which makes an angry heat coil in Keiji’s stomach. He bites on Bokuto’s bottom lip with more aggression than is entirely necessary.

For a second he considers dragging Bokuto down into his own bed, but there’s no reason to try to fit them both on his twin-size mattress when Bokuto’s queen-size is right next door. So he pushes Bokuto out of his room, kissing him fiercely up against the wall as they make their way down the hall.

“Off,” he demands, tugging on Bokuto’s costume when they stumble into his room.

“Can’t,” Bokuto replies. “You gotta.” He turns around and—oh, right. Keiji was the one who zipped and buttoned him into this earlier. He has to be the one to take it off.

It’s a good thing Keiji has so much self-control, because if he were a lesser man he’d just rip the thing off at this point. He fumbles with the buttons and hook at the top, then slides down the zipper, revealing the muscled expanse of Bokuto’s back. He runs his hand down Bokuto’s sweat-slicked skin and helps him step out of the costume and then his boxers.

When Bokuto is naked, Keiji shoves him onto the bed and climbs on top of him, grinding his hips down and kissing him deeply. He starts trailing his hands and his mouth across Bokuto’s chest, licking his nipples and tracing his ribs before scooting backwards to continue further down his stomach, his thighs. Then Keiji grabs his cock and drags his tongue from the base to the head, and Bokuto chokes on a moan, hips bucking slightly.

Keiji is going to make him feel so good he’ll forget what it’s like to be touched by someone else.

He takes Bokuto’s cock into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue. He wraps his fist around the base, pumping as his head bobs up and down. Bokuto groans and reaches down to tangle his fingers in Keiji’s hair. With each little pull Keiji’s dick throbs with desire.

After a few minutes he removes his mouth from Bokuto’s cock and uses just his hand, stroking steadily as he bites Bokuto’s thigh hard enough to make him gasp. He runs his tongue over the indentations, placing a few softer kisses before biting again in a new spot. Bokuto is groaning and writhing, but he doesn’t make a sound of protest, so Keiji continues to bite and suck, marking up the smooth skin of his inner thighs.

_Mine_ , hisses the possessive voice in his head. _Take_ , commands something wild and greedy inside of him. He wants to make Bokuto cry in pleasure. He wants to tie him up and never let him go. He wants to leave marks over every inch of skin so everyone will know what he’s done. He’ll give in to his irrational jealously—just this once, just for the night. It doesn’t matter. These feelings will be gone with the sun.

“Kaashi—‘m close,” Bokuto gasps, and Keiji immediately stops, even wraps his fingers around the base of Bokuto’s cock to make sure he doesn’t come. Bokuto makes a soft whining noise.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Keiji explains, pushing off the mattress. He quickly strips himself naked and grabs the bottle of lube from the bedside table. 

He rejoins Bokuto on the bed, pulling the other man up into a sitting position and settling into his lap, straddling his thighs. Their cocks slide together and Keiji hisses slightly at the electric contact of skin against skin. He drizzles a bit of lube first on Bokuto’s hand, then his own. By now Bokuto has realized what he wants, so he doesn’t hesitate to start stroking them both together.

Keiji groans at his touch, leaning forward to bury his face in Bokuto’s shoulder, to breathe him in, all sweat and skin and hair gel and _Bokuto_. He starts to give Bokuto’s neck the same treatment he gave his thighs—biting, licking, sucking, marking. Their hands work in tandem, sliding up and down their lengths, bringing them both closer and closer to the edge. 

It doesn’t matter if Bokuto kisses someone else at a party, because he still comes home with Keiji—he still _comes_ with Keiji, who is the only one who gets to touch him like this. And that’s enough, because Keiji doesn’t want more. He _doesn’t_. It’s enough, because Keiji _can’t_ have more.

It’s enough; _it’s enough_.

Bokuto comes first, but with his gasped cry of _Aghashee_ it only takes a few seconds more before Keiji is coming too, gripping Bokuto’s shoulder and moaning his name into his neck.

That night, Keiji doesn’t retreat to his own room when they finish. He falls asleep clinging to Bokuto.

The next morning, Keiji wakes up in Bokuto’s bed. Bokuto is fresh out of the shower and dressed for practice, standing in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the door and inspecting the splotchy purple marks that decorate his neck. Keiji winces at the evidence of what he did.

Bokuto notices he’s awake and catches his eye in the mirror. Keiji looks away, sitting up and fiddling with his fingers in his lap. He may be an irrationally jealous asshole but at least he has the decency to feel embarrassed about it. “I… apologize,” he says. “I got carried away.”

“Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

“Are you very upset?” Keiji asks tentatively, glancing back up to meet Bokuto’s eyes.

“I mean, not really,” he says, shrugging a little. “It’s just—ugh, the team is gonna tease me _so_ bad,” he says with a groan.

“I’m sorry,” Keiji says, and half of him means it. The other half _wants_ everyone to see his selfish declaration to the world. _Back off_ , warn the bruises on his neck. _He’s mine_ , claim the teethmarks on his thighs.

So okay, maybe his surge of irrational possessiveness hasn’t completely faded with the morning light.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he offers. “Anything you want.”

“Anything I want?” Bokuto turns away from the mirror to look at Keiji directly, grinning and raising an eyebrow in consideration. “Well in that case I might forgive you.”

“That’s what I thought,” Keiji says mildly, like he’s not flooded with relief, grateful that his stupid impulsive actions haven’t ruined this. “Think about what you want me to do. Or what you want to do to me.”

“Are you trying to get me all worked up?” Bokuto asks, eyes glinting.

“Maybe,” Keiji admits. “Is it working?”

“Maybe,” Bokuto replies as he closes the rest of the distance between them, putting one knee on the bed so he can lean forward to give Keiji a kiss. Keiji is immediately self-conscious about his morning breath, but Bokuto doesn’t seem to mind. After a minute he releases Keiji’s lips with a little groan. “Ugh, why do I have to go to practice now?”

Keiji lifts a hand to softly cup Bokuto’s face, thumb brushing his cheek. It’s more affection than he usually shows, but Bokuto closes his eyes and leans contentedly into the touch, and Keiji has to wonder why he doesn’t do this kind of thing all the damn time. “Because you’re going to be a professional volleyball player one day, and professional volleyball players don’t skip morning practice.”

Bokuto breaks into a blinding grin. “Yeah I am! You’re right, you’re right! Okay, I’m going! In just a minute!” He ducks down for another kiss, sliding his hand behind Keiji’s head, fingers in his hair. “Pro volleyball players are allowed to be late every now and then, you know.”

“Is that so?” Keiji says in a flat tone, even as he responds eagerly to Bokuto’s lips against his own.

Eventually, tragically, Bokuto pulls away again. “So, hey, uh,” he licks his lips. “When you say _anything_ , are we talking like only sex stuff or can I ask for something else?”

Keiji frowns. “That depends entirely on what you want.” He’s suddenly wary, afraid Bokuto is going to request something that Keiji just can’t give.

“I have a game on Saturday,” he says, sounding a little nervous. “Will you… come watch me play?”

“Oh.” Keiji is momentarily taken aback. Of all the things to ask for, _this_ is what he wants? “I suppose I can do that,” he says. He doesn’t say that this is hardly a favor, or that he would’ve gone anyways if he knew Bokuto wanted him there, even if he didn’t owe an act of atonement. He’s just glad it’s something he’s able to do.

“Yesss!” Bokuto cheers, and he looks so _happy_ Keiji has a fleeting thought that he might go to every game, if that’s all it takes for him to grin like that. “Okay, okay, I really do gotta go to practice now.” He leans in for one last kiss, beaming when he pulls away. “See you later, Kaashi!!”

Keiji watches him go, listening for the sound of the apartment door closing. Then he lifts his hand and touches his lips, glad he’s alone in the room because he couldn’t hide this smile if he tried.


	17. Exercise Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Take Me To Church by Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6dpp5JikDs)

The auditorium is big and loud and Keiji feels intensely out of his element.

He fidgets with his fingers as he climbs the bleachers, assessing the situation and trying to decide where he should sit. Not too far from the court, because he wants to be able to see what’s happening, but not so close that he’s stuck in the middle of the rambunctious cheering section, because the level of noise in here is already grating.

Then he spots a familiar blonde sitting alone and he immediately makes his way toward the other boy.

“Tsukishima-kun,” he greets, gesturing to the empty spot beside him. “May I sit here?”

“Ah, Akaashi-san. Sure,” he says, and Keiji settles down. “I thought you were working today.”

“I got my shift covered,” he explains. It was an unfair trade. Saturday afternoon is a highly coveted time slot, and Keiji had to agree to work two disgustingly early morning shifts next week to appease Konoha.

“I didn’t realize you were a volleyball fan.”

Instead of saying _I’m not_ , Keiji replies, “I used to play. And Bokuto-san invited me.”

Tsukishima makes a sound of acknowledgement that Keiji decides not to read too much into.

It’s not much longer before the team files out onto the court to start warming up. Keiji spots Bokuto immediately, his hair making him easy to identify even from a distance. Bokuto’s eyes keep scanning the crowd, and there’s a tug in Keiji’s chest when he realizes that Bokuto is probably looking for _him_.

Kuroo is the one who notices Tsukishima and Keiji first. He elbows Bokuto, interrupting him from his stretches to point them out in the stands. Bokuto’s face brightens when he meets Keiji’s eyes.

“Hey, hey! Aghasheee!” Bokuto calls, loud enough to be heard over the crowd, and beside him Kuroo starts cackling, also loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

At least three people in front of Keiji turn around, searching for the person Bokuto Koutarou is shouting at. Bokuto waves both hands wildly like Keiji isn’t already staring right at him. Kuroo blows Tsukishima a kiss with grand exaggerated motions.

“Ugh,” Tsukishima groans, covering his face with one hand.

“Yes,” Keiji agrees, sinking a little lower into his seat.

Fortunately, Bokuto and Kuroo get yelled at to stop causing a scene and start warming up.

Unfortunately, this is when Keiji realizes something very dangerous about Bokuto’s kneepads.

What Keiji first thought were leggings are actually compression sleeves that end at the top of his thighs. Most of the time the edges of these sleeves are hidden by the length of Bokuto’s shorts. 

However. There are these brief fleeting moments when Bokuto jumps or leans over that his shorts hike up enough to reveal a sliver of skin, the space just above the long kneepads.

It’s nothing Keiji hasn’t seen before—he’s touched those thighs; he’s licked and kissed and bit into that exact spot. But there’s something almost _indecent_ about seeing that flash of skin every now and then, only if you’re paying close attention, a glimpse of pale flesh before Bokuto shifts and his shorts cover him up again.

Keiji wishes he bought a drink before he sat down; he feels suddenly parched.

_Are those kneepads even legal?_

Tsukishima snorts beside him and _fuck_ Keiji said that out loud, didn’t he?

Keiji glances over at him. The look Tsukishima gives him is far too discerning for Keiji’s liking. Keiji works to keep his face blank. He doesn’t know what exactly his expression was when he was watching Bokuto, but somehow he feels like it’s revealed far too much.

Eventually, the game begins. The energy on the court gradually ramps up. There’s a few good serves, a few short rallies, a few points scored on both sides. Then Oikawa sets the ball to Bokuto.

Bokuto flies up into the air, eyes wide and hungry and reflecting light, his muscles flexing as he pulls his arm back to swing. There’s a loud smacking sound as his hand connects and then—Keiji doesn’t even process the ball moving until it’s slamming down on the other side of the court. 

“Holy shit.” He didn’t mean to say that out loud either but _holy shit_. Keiji feels a little like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water.

“You’ve never seen him play before, have you?”

“No,” Keiji says, but it’s not just that—Keiji has never seen _anyone_ play like _this_ before. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have given up on volleyball after middle school.

When Keiji quit the sport, he never looked back. He never had a reason to regret his choice. But watching Bokuto play now has Keiji’s fingers twitching at his sides. He’s overcome with a wild urge to set for him, to be the one tossing the ball for Bokuto to blast down with one of those forceful spikes.

Keiji has always known that Bokuto is serious about volleyball. He’s always known of Bokuto’s intentions to go pro. But somehow he never really _understood_ exactly what that meant until this moment. He’s… _incredible_. So passionate and strong and _alive_ out on the court.

He’s a star.

Brilliant and bright. Glorious and divine.

There’s something almost _transcendent_ about the way Bokuto plays. The way he reaches toward the heavens when he leaps into the air. The way he sends the ball crashing down to the hallowed ground of the court. The way he moves, powerful and untouchable, like a thunderstorm in human form.

And his _presence_. The intensity of his focus, the hunger in his gaze—Keiji would’ve found it shocking if he hadn’t seen this side of Bokuto between his legs almost every night for the last month. And seeing him like this here and now triggers a pavlovian response in Keiji. He’s filled with a sudden desperate need to touch him, to taste him, to drag him home and take him in every way he can.

It doesn’t help Keiji’s reckless imagination that Bokuto keeps sparing him attention, even now, in the middle of a game. Whenever Bokuto scores a point from a spike, he glances up at Keiji in the stands, eyes burning. And Keiji can practically hear him asking, _Did you see that? Did you see me?_

Keiji holds his gaze every time. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

_I see you._

They win. Of course they do. How could they not, with a player like Bokuto Koutarou spiking ball after ball, scoring point after point? Even the final play is his—a straight shot that touches down just barely on the right side of the line. The whistle blows, the cheers in the auditorium are thunderous, and Bokuto catches Keiji’s eyes for just a second before he’s tackled by his teammates into a giant group hug.

When the players file off the court, the crowds start to disperse. Keiji should probably go now, too. Bokuto always comes home very late on game days—there’s the post-game debriefing with the coach, then he has to change and shower, and there’s usually a team dinner at nearby restaurant. Keiji probably won’t be able to focus enough to do much homework while he kills time waiting for Bokuto, but he can maybe get started on something.

“Where are you going?” Tsukishima asks when Keiji stands up. “Don’t you want to stick around for your boyfriend?”

Keiji frowns at him. “Bokuto-san is not my boyfriend.”

Tsukishima smirks. “Huh, I didn’t mention his name.”

Keiji glares.

“Oh, come on. You know he’ll want to see you. Might as well wait with me.”

Keiji pretends to contemplate the decision, like his mind isn’t already made up. “Fine.”

So Keiji and Tsukishima stay seated where they are, scrolling on their phones and making small talk while the auditorium clears out. After about thirty minutes Tsukishima stands up and says, “Come on. They should be nearly done by now.”

He leads Keiji out of the stands and down a hallway that Keiji isn’t entirely sure they’re allowed to be in. But when they run into one of the team managers, Tsukishima exchanges greetings with her and she makes no move to stop them as they head toward the locker room. They wait out in the hall for another five minutes before Tsukishima sighs.

“I’ll be back,” he says, and he disappears into the locker room just as Oikawa and Iwaizumi are exiting.

“Oh, Aka-chan! Bokkun mentioned you were coming today!” Oikawa greets with a grin as he and Iwaizumi approach.

Keiji nods. “Congratulations on your win. You both played a good game.”

“Well, of course we did,” Oikawa says with a wink. “But thanks! And, oh, hey—maybe you can settle something for us.” His smile shifts from cheerful to devious. “You must know who Bokkun is dating! Spill!”

Keiji feels his stomach flip. His face knits into a frown. “He’s not dating anyone.”

He’s not. There’s no way. Keiji would know.

“Told you,” Iwaizumi says, elbowing Oikawa. “You know he wouldn’t be able to shut up about it if he was.”

“Then who covered him in hickeys after the Halloween party, hmm?”

Oh. Right. That. Keiji disregards the relief that sweeps through him and focuses instead on not looking culpable. Thankfully the two are bickering amongst themselves and paying him little attention.

“It was probably Nanami, didn’t they kiss?”

“She was still at the party after he disappeared!”

“Must’ve been a random hookup then.”

“Bokkun doesn’t _do_ random hookups! And he’s been all weirdly smiley lately!” Oikawa rounds on Keiji again. “Are you _sure_ he’s not dating anyone?”

“Not as far as I know.” He tries not to look too amused as he offers them a hint. “He’s never brought anyone home.”

“Then he must go to their place,” Oikawa says contemplatively. “Hmm. I’m gonna figure this out. Just you watch, Iwa-chan!”

“Maybe there’s nothing to figure out. Don’t hassle him, Shittykawa.”

“I’m not hassling him! I’m just curious! He’s definitely keeping something from us. It’s not like him.”

Keiji feels a twinge of guilt at that. He’s the one who insisted Bokuto not tell anyone about them. Keiji just didn’t want people knowing about his private life. He didn’t really consider that it might be difficult for Bokuto to keep something like that from his friends and teammates.

“Maybe they’re really ugly,” Oikawa muses. “So Bokkun’s embarrassed.”

Keiji frowns. Then again, maybe some of his teammates don’t deserve to know.

Iwaizumi punches his boyfriend in the arm. “God, you’re an awful person.”

“Ow! Mean, Iwa-chan! It’s an honest concern!”

“You’re such an asshole.”

The door to the locker room slams open again and Tsukishima reappears with Kuroo at his side. Still no sign of Bokuto. Tsukishima matches pace with Oikawa and Iwaizumi as they start walking toward the exit at the end of the hall.

When Keiji doesn’t move from his spot, Kuroo stops to clap his shoulder. “Akaashi! You’re coming to dinner with us, yeah?”

Keiji frowns slightly. “I wasn’t intending to.”

“Oh, come on! Bokuto will probably skip out again if you don’t,” he complains, but there’s no real heat to it. He looks more amused than anything. “He keeps ditching dinners with the team to go home early.”

“Does he?” Keiji asks mildly, but inside of him there’s a surge of _something_ —a strange tangle of feelings he doesn’t have language for. 

“Uh huh,” Kuroo says with a sly smile. “He must really enjoy your… _cooking_.”

Keiji gives him a flat stare. “Thank you for that very subtle insinuation, Kuroo-san.”

He lets out a little cackling laugh. “You’ll come though, yeah?”

“If Bokuto-san is alright with that.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Oh, he will be.”

Keiji ignores the comfort that Kuroo’s certainty brings him. He tries not to let his impatience show through his tone as he asks, “Where is he?”

Kuroo jerks his head back toward the locker room. “He’s always the last one out. The guy takes ridiculously long showers.”

“Ah, right.”

“You’d know all about that, huh?”

“Yes,” Keiji says deadpan. “We do live together.”

Kuroo stares at him for another moment then lets out a defeated sigh. “You know, it’s a lot more fun to provoke people who have reactions.”

Keiji almost smiles. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

From the other end of the hallway, Oikawa wails, “Hurry _up_ , you guys! I’m starving!”

At that, Kuroo starts walking backwards toward the exit, still facing Keiji. “We’ll go on ahead,” he says with a salute and a wink. “We’ll leave Bo to you!”

The four of them file out, and there’s an echoing metal bang of the door shutting, and then there’s silence. Keiji stands in the quiet hallway for a moment. Should he just wait out here, or…?

A spark of a bad idea lights up in the back of his brain. Is Bokuto alone in the locker room right now? Hmm. Keiji considers the situation for a moment, replaying a few choice images from the game in his mind. This brewing idea is definitely not a good one, but, well. He’s had worse ideas. And maybe he’s not thinking clearly, but that’s not entirely his fault. He’s been riled up for hours now, buzzing with anticipation to get Bokuto alone.

How could he pass up this opportunity?

He slips into the locker room, twisting the lock behind him. He’s not sure who exactly has a set of keys, but hopefully they’re gone for the night. Or at least busy for the next ten minutes or so.

When Keiji walks in, Bokuto is just leaving the showers and entering the locker bay, naked save for a towel wrapped around his waist. He sees Keiji and a look of surprise flashes across his face before he breaks into a bright smile. “Aghaashee! You’re still here! So? So? What’d you think of the game?”

“It was good,” Keiji says as he starts to cross the room, advancing on Bokuto, not unlike a predator seeking his prey.

“Right? Did you see my last spike? It was awesome, huh?”

“Yes. You were amazing.”

Bokuto’s eyebrows shoot up. He looks a little confused as he takes in Keiji’s words, his stance, how close he suddenly is.

“Kaashi?” Bokuto says tentatively.

Keiji is near enough to touch him now. He settles his hands on Bokuto’s hips, resting right above the towel. His skin is warm and damp from the shower. Keiji pushes him a little, just a few steps so his back is against the wall of lockers.

“You played very well,” he says. He leans in to kiss Bokuto’s neck, lips moving against his skin as he says, “And you looked so good out there.”

“I—um—thanks,” Bokuto stammers, adorably flustered, cheeks turning red.

Keiji should definitely praise Bokuto more often, all the time, if this is the reaction he gets.

“I’ve been wanting to touch you for hours,” Keiji confesses, pressing his hips into Bokuto’s, thrilled to feel that he’s already getting hard under that towel.

“Kaaaashi!” he says in a low whine, but it’s more of a plea than a protest. “Should—shouldn’t we go home?”

“Can’t wait,” Keiji says, kissing the soft skin under his ear. “Want you now.”

Bokuto groans. “But—what if someone sees?”

“Then they’ll see,” Keiji says, placing a line of hot kisses down his neck. “And they’ll be jealous.” Kisses along his collarbone. “That I’m the one who gets to do this to you.”

He trails his fingers down Bokuto’s pecs and abs as he drops to his knees. He places his hand on the knot of the towel and looks up at him.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Bokuto chest rises and falls with his breath as he croaks out, “Never.”

Keiji unwraps the towel and lets it fall, pooling around Bokuto’s ankles, freeing his erection.

He slides his hands slowly up Bokuto’s thighs. “It’s too bad you already took off your kneepads,” he murmurs.

“You liked them?”

“Yes,” he says as he wraps one hand around Bokuto’s cock, giving him a few steady strokes. With his free hand he runs his fingertips along the faint red lines from where the compression sleeves pressed into Bokuto’s skin, runs his fingertips along the other fading marks from where he sucked and bit into Bokuto’s thighs earlier that week.

Then he leans forward and guides Bokuto’s cock into his mouth, taking him as deep as he can right away.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Bokuto groans, tipping his head back so it bangs against the locker.

Keiji places both of his hands on Bokuto’s thighs, holding him still, fingers making soft indentations in flesh. He moves his head back and forth, sucking and swallowing around Bokuto’s length. He’s gotten better at this—he can take him deeper now, and he doesn’t gag as easily when Bokuto’s cock nudges the back of his throat. 

Keiji feels wild and electric and fearless, and it’s all because of Bokuto. _He’s_ the one who makes him feel this way—the only one who’s ever made him feel this way. He makes Keiji feel daring. He makes Keiji feel appreciated. He makes Keiji _feel_.

Bokuto has one hand over his mouth to muffle himself, but he keeps making these breathy whimpering noises that go straight to Keiji’s cock. Eventually Keiji has to take one of his hands off of Bokuto to palm himself through his jeans. It’s not enough. The desperation goes to his head. He clumsily undoes his pants so he can free his erection and stroke himself.

“ _Fuck_ —Kaashi,” Bokuto murmurs. His hand is resting on Keiji’s head, fingers twisting and pulling his hair because he knows how much Keiji likes that. “God, you’re so—amazing. You’re fucking unreal.”

Keiji hums around Bokuto’s cock, his own hand working himself with more urgency. Maybe Bokuto isn’t the only one who gets off on being praised. He starts sucking faster, harder. Bokuto’s gasping breaths echo in the otherwise quiet locker room.

“Ah—I’m close— _Aghaashee_.”

When Bokuto comes with a shudder and a groan, Keiji is ready. His fingers dig into Bokuto’s hip as warmth hits the back of his throat. He swallows once, twice, three times; swallows every last drop while Bokuto spasms in his mouth.

Then he pulls off of Bokuto’s cock with a wet popping sound and frantically strokes himself to completion. He presses his cheek against Bokuto’s thigh and moans into his skin as he comes on the towel pooled between his knees.

They stay like that for a moment, both breathing hard, then Keiji tucks himself back into his pants and stands up. Bokuto grabs his shoulders and pulls him in for a deep kiss.

“Wow,” he murmurs when they break apart, running his hands down Keiji’s arms. “Kaashi, that was… wow.”

“You should get dressed now,” Keiji tells him, his voice a bit rough. “Everyone is waiting on us at the restaurant.”

“Us? Are you… you’re coming too?”

“Kuroo-san invited me.” Keiji hesitates. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

“No no no!” he says quickly. “I want you to!”

Keiji bites back a smile and pinches his arm. “Then hurry up and get dressed.”

The ramen place is a few blocks away from campus. As they walk over together, Bokuto shares an enthusiastic recap of the game, explaining all his best plays and detailing strategy that mostly goes over Keiji’s head. Keiji gives him as much space as the sidewalk affords so Bokuto can re-enact his game winning spike, jumping up and swinging his arm and adding sound effects.

“ _Wahpow!_ Right on the line! It was so cool!” he cheers. Then he tips his head back and smiles at the night sky as he lets loose a contented sigh. “I think this is the best day of my life.”

Keiji huffs out a laugh. “You’re that happy you won?”

Bokuto tilts his head to the side to grin at him, golden eyes sparkling. “Something like that.”


	18. Besties With Benefits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [The Kids Aren’t Alright by Fall Out Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WR7U7_cKJw4)

Another shift in the routine: Keiji stops returning to his own bed at the end of the night. Since that first time after the party, he’s been sleeping in Bokuto’s room. It’s just… easier this way. Convenient. And okay maybe it’s also kind of nice to fall asleep in Bokuto’s arms, to wake up wrapped in his warmth. But it’s not a big deal.

So they’re lying in bed, pressed against each other and exhausted after another indulgent Sunday afternoon of fooling around, when Bokuto asks, “Why don’t you wanna date?”

Keiji inhales sharply, going from half-asleep and relaxed to very awake and tense in one second flat.

Bokuto laughs a little. “Man, your face—you look so scared! Breathe, don’t worry, I’m not tryin to date you or anything.”

Keiji releases the breath caught in his lungs, though for some reason he’s not exactly comforted by that statement.

“I’m just wondering,” Bokuto says. “You seem so sure about not wanting a relationship.”

“I am very sure. I’m not good at relationships.”

“But how do you know if you’ve never tried?”

“Because I’m not speaking only to romantic relationships,” Keiji says. “I’m not good at relationships in general. I’m not good with people. I’m sure you can imagine why.”

“Not really,” Bokuto says. “Is it… the blunt honesty thing? ‘Cause I don’t think that makes you bad at relationships!”

Keiji shakes his head a little. “While I do think that’s a factor, it’s more that I simply don’t have the… capacity for it,” Keiji tries to explain. He’s never really articulated this before; it’s always just been a swirl of thoughts winding in his brain.

“Being with someone like that means you have to rearrange your life for them, you have to make room in your head for them. If you’re in a relationship, then for every decision you make you have to consider not only how it will affect your own life, but also how it will affect theirs. Relationships are… restrictive, taxing. There are so many obligations and expectations. It’s—too much.”

Bokuto hums thoughtfully. “I guess I can understand that,” he says after a moment. “Guess I’m kinda in a similar situation ‘cause of volleyball. If I want any real chance of going pro, I gotta be committed to that above everything, there’s not really room for much else. Especially after I graduate and join a team—I’ll be traveling a lot, might even go play overseas. It’ll always have to come first, and that wouldn’t really be fair to a partner.”

“That makes sense,” Keiji says. He swallows the lump in his throat and goes on, “For me there’s also… the emotional side of things. You may have noticed, I’m not a very expressive person. I can’t. _This_. I’m not good at _this_ —at being… emotionally vulnerable. This conversation right now is quite possibly the most personal thing I’ve shared with anyone and I’ve barely shared.” His voice is a little shaky when he adds, “And I feel like I’m suffocating.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bokuto says, soothingly brushing Keiji’s hair back from his face. “You don’t have to—I didn’t mean to push.”

“No, no it’s fine,” Keiji says, letting out a rattling breath. “But you see the problem. I can barely do this much, even with someone like you, someone I already trust. How could I ever hope to get close enough to someone that I’m comfortable being truly open? I just feel like—it’s not for me. That kind of connection, that level of intimacy—it feels impossible. It’s just something that I don’t get to have.”

“Hmm,” Bokuto says, quiet for a moment before asking, “Have you ever thought that you might be aromantic? Not to be presumptuous or anything!” He pauses, then adds, “Did I use that word right?”

Keiji huffs out a laugh. “Yes, you did. And I have considered it, but no. It’s not that I don’t experience romantic attraction, I am simply ill-equipped to deal with it. Even if I had feelings for someone, I doubt I could make a relationship work. And again, it’s not exclusive to romantic relationships. My relationships with family, with friends—they all suffer.”

He hesitates for another second, then goes on to confess, “I’ve never had a best friend, at least not since I was in elementary school. I’ve never let myself get close enough to anyone to reach that level. I’m not an easy person to know. It would take a very long time for me to let my guard down with someone, and most people simply aren’t that patient or willing to expend the effort. And I can’t blame them.”

“You know,” Bokuto says, voice hushed like he’s sharing a secret. “I’ve never really had a best friend, either.”

“Really?” Keiji asks, not bothering to mask his surprise. “What about Kuroo-san?”

“I mean, we’re pretty close, sure. But his best friend is Kenma, and he’s dating Tsukki, so I guess I kinda come in third for him. People aren’t very patient with me, either. I’m too loud and too moody and people don’t really wanna deal with that.”

“Their loss,” Keiji murmurs before he can think better of it.

Bokuto’s arm tightens around him, and after a beat he goes on, “You know, I kinda feel like… ah, never mind.”

“What?” Keiji prods.

Bokuto is silent for a few seconds then he lets out a little breath and says, “Okay, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything, but… I kinda feel like _you’re_ my best friend. No one’s ever really put up with me for this long before, so. Thanks, Akaashi.”

“I…” Keiji swallows thickly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Keiji pinches his arm. “Stop apologizing for things that don’t necessitate an apology.”

“Sorr—ack!” he cuts off with a squawk when Keiji pinches him again.

Keiji huffs out a breath and goes on. “I… suppose, if we take into account the amount of time we spend in each other’s company and how close we have gotten over the last five months, then I suppose it’s the same for me. You are likely my best friend as well.”

“Really?” Bokuto asks, his voice soft and full of wonder.

“Do you see anyone else competing for the title,” Keiji asks flatly.

“I guess not. I just. Wow!” He laughs and hugs Keiji tighter. “That makes me really happy.”

“I don’t entirely understand why. I don’t think I’m a very good friend.”

“Eh, that’s not surprising. You’re kinda stupid like that.”

“Excuse me?” Keiji pulls back to properly glare.

Bokuto gives him a soft look and pulls him close, pressing Keiji’s head against his chest again, petting his hair as he explains. “The way you see yourself, it’s just. I wish you could see how amazing you are.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Keiji mutters, pressing closer to Bokuto’s chest to keep his burning face hidden from view.

“I mean it though.”

“I know you do, that’s what makes it so embarrassing.”

“But it’s true! You’re really—”

“Stop talking right now or I’ll revoke your title as best friend.”

Bokuto lets out a dramatic gasp. “You can’t do that!”

“Don’t challenge me. I can and I will.”

“No no no, I don’t think so! You already said it. No take backs! You’re stuck with me, _bestie_.”

“Ugh,” Keiji says, and he pinches Bokuto’s arm again as the other man just laughs. But Keiji can’t help the thought that of all the people to get stuck with, he feels like he maybe owes some great debt to the universe to have ended up with Bokuto Koutarou.

“You know,” Keiji goes on after a second. “I do have ways of making you shut up.”

“Oya? Is that so-ooohh,” his taunt turns into a moan as Keiji slips his hand between Bokuto’s thighs.

“You were saying?”

“Nothing,” he breathes as Keiji continues to stroke him hard. “I was saying nothing.”

“Hmm.” Keiji kisses his neck and smiles against his skin, “That’s what I thought.”


	19. Gift Wrapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Holy Roller by Cyn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzsiD2ncYfU)

For Keiji’s birthday, Bokuto gives him a book he’s been wanting, a very nice set of black shibari ropes, and three orgasms.

He even wears his kneepads for a round, which Keiji very much enjoys, even if he does belatedly discover an unintended consequence. He’s between Bokuto’s thighs, fingers slipping under the edge of the compression sleeve so he can pull the material and let it snap back against Bokuto’s skin when he realizes: he is _never_ going to be able to watch Bokuto play volleyball again without remembering this and getting aroused.

Still. Future public erections aside, it’s a pretty great birthday.

Afterwards, they’re lying in bed, because they’ve spent nearly the entire day in bed, and Keiji is staring absently at Bokuto’s bookshelf when he thinks to ask, “How did you know I wanted that book?”

“You mentioned it last week!” Bokuto says, kissing his shoulder. His chest is pressed to Keiji’s back, bare skin against bare skin. “You were complaining about the library waitlist being super long, so I figured you’d probably like gettin to read it sooner!”

“You remembered that?” _Keiji_ barely remembers that—it had only been an offhand comment over dinner.

“I have a great memory!” Bokuto boasts.

“Then please remember to pay the electricity bill on time.”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto wails, shaking him a little. “That was one time! Akaashi! Why do you only remember bad things?”

Bokuto’s reaction is so overdramatic, Keiji isn’t quick enough to hold back his laugh. A _real_ laugh, not the breathy huff he usually does, but one that shakes his shoulders, loud and uncontrolled. He has an _awful_ laugh—someone once told him that—so he makes every effort to never let these sounds escape him. His brain must really be mush after all those orgasms to allow this to happen.

Bokuto gasps and leans his head over Keiji’s shoulder like he’s trying to hear better. “I made Akaashi laugh!” he cheers. “Wow, I really am the best!”

And Keiji pinches Bokuto’s arm and presses his face into the pillow to hide, but he can’t stop laughing, and Bokuto just tightens his hold around Keiji’s waist and grins against his neck.

Over the next week, Keiji spends some time researching how to properly tie knots and practicing with his ropes. By Sunday, he’s buzzing with anticipation to show off all he’s learned. They have a free afternoon and a fresh bottle of lube. They have safewords, and scissors on the bedside table in case they need to quickly cut the ropes.

They’re ready.

“Tell me right away if anything hurts or feels wrong.”

Bokuto nods eagerly as Keiji straddles him and starts winding the rope around his chest. The pattern he chose is perhaps a bit complex for a beginner, but Keiji couldn’t resist—as soon as he saw the design of knotted triangles across the chest and arms bound behind the back, he knew he _had_ to see Bokuto like this.

He’s gentle and diligent as he works, and Bokuto is uncharacteristically still as he watches. Keiji is starting to theorize that Bokuto likes the act of being tied up more than he actually likes being restrained. Keiji sitting in his lap, focused entirely on Bokuto, touching him all over as he carefully knots the rope— _that’s_ what Bokuto likes most about this, if his erection pressing up against Keiji is any indication.

When he finishes with the binding, Keiji leans back to admire his work. It’s everything he hoped it would be. Bokuto looks so fucking good like this. All wrapped up, like the best birthday gift Keiji has ever received.

He runs his hands down Bokuto’s chest, fingers brushing against skin then rope then skin again. “You feel okay? Nothing’s too tight or uncomfortable?”

“Mmhm,” Bokuto says, leaning forward like he wants a kiss. Keiji is happy to oblige him. “Feels good.”

“Good,” Keiji says. Now the real fun can begin.

He has Bokuto sit on the edge of the bed then he kisses his way down Bokuto’s body, generous with the skin to skin contact. He knows Bokuto likes to be touched more than he likes to be teased. He knows all sorts of things about what Bokuto likes. There’s a whole list in Keiji’s head he didn’t even realize he was compiling until he started subconsciously numbering them.

Somehow Bokuto’s body has become a familiar place to him. One wherein he doesn’t mind spending all of his time.

Keiji kneels down on the floor in front of him, settles between his legs. He runs his fingers over the marks on Bokuto’s thighs. Some barely there, a week old at this point, and others only slightly faded from a few days ago. 

Keiji isn’t supposed to mark up Bokuto’s neck anymore, but he has free reign over his thighs. Bokuto confessed that he likes everything about it—the biting itself, the lingering marks that remind him of what Keiji did, how his shorts and kneepads keep his skin covered so it feels like a secret just between them. So every few days Keiji gets to renew his work, decorating Bokuto’s perfect thighs with his teeth and tongue.

He bites and licks at Bokuto’s flesh, purposefully avoiding brushing against his erection, even though it’s right there, oh so tempting and glistening wet with pre-cum. But Keiji is a patient man.

Unlike Bokuto. It doesn’t take long for him to start losing his mind, whining and begging, “Kaashi, _Kaashi_ , touch me _please_.”

“Okay, okay,” Keiji says soothingly, standing back up. “I’m going to have you lie down now.”

He repositions Bokuto, propping a pillow behind his back to ease any strain on his shoulders. Then he grabs the bottle of lube and slicks up his fingers. He starts with a bit of teasing—because he just can’t help himself—dragging slow circles around the rim, encouraged by the breathy whimpering noises Bokuto keeps making.

Finally, he pushes a finger in, slowly thrusting and working Bokuto open. God, Keiji thinks he might enjoy this as much as Bokuto does. Keiji loves the way Bokuto’s body reacts under his touch, the sounds escaping his throat, the intoxicating heat sucking his fingers in. Every time he does this his brain goes absolutely wild wondering what it would feel like to sink his length into that tight hole instead. Keiji’s ruts against the mattress, mindlessly seeking friction as he focuses on pleasuring Bokuto.

He slips in a second finger, working them in a steady rhythm, in and out, slide and press. When he can tell Bokuto’s climax is close, he leans forward and wraps his lips around Bokuto’s cock so he can finish in Keiji’s mouth. As much as he likes using only his fingers to make Bokuto come all over himself, that tends to get messy, and Keiji doesn’t want to spend tomorrow figuring out how to clean cum off his new ropes.

He digs his fingers into Bokuto’s thighs, continuing to suck and swallow through Bokuto’s orgasm until he’s edging the line of too sensitive. Then Keiji lets him go, pushing up to his knees so he can take care of himself, aching for his own release.

“Wait,” Bokuto says, just as Keiji starts to stroke. “Lemme suck you off. You can fuck my mouth.”

God _damn_ , the offer alone is so hot Keiji almost comes right then.

“Are you sure?”  


“Yes, Kaashi, _yes_ ,” Bokuto says, squirming a little, mobility still hindered by the ropes.

“You’ll have to kick me if you need me to stop,” Keiji says, crawling over Bokuto to position himself above his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bokuto says, tipping his head and opening his mouth for Keiji, so willing and wanting.

Fucking hell, Keiji is _not_ going to last long.

He pushes into the wet heat of Bokuto’s mouth with a groan. Shallow thrusts at first, only increasing his depth and pace when he’s sure Bokuto can take it. He grips the headboard with one hand, the other tangled in Bokuto’s hair, holding him in place. His hips stutter as the pleasure builds to a tipping point.

“Gonna come,” he gasps out, and Bokuto hums in assent just as Keiji’s orgasm hits.

He feels Bokuto swallowing around him, his cock throbbing with the pulses of his release. Keiji closes his eyes and rides it out. As soon as he has his bearings again he withdraws, saliva and cum smearing across Bokuto’s lips. Keiji grabs the washcloth from the bedside table to wipe at Bokuto’s mouth, to wipe the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“You’re okay?” he asks softly, cupping Bokuto's face.

Bokuto hums and nods, leaning into the touch.

“Let me untie you,” Keiji says, climbing off Bokuto so he can roll him onto his stomach and undo the binds.

Quickly, carefully, he unties the knots, massaging Bokuto’s wrists and arms to work out any stiffness before directing Bokuto onto his back again so he can undo the knots across his chest. Now that Bokuto’s arms are free, he lazily runs his hands up and down Keiji’s thighs as Keiji finishes his work.

When the last knot is unraveled, Keiji drops the rope over the edge of the bed then turns his attention back to Bokuto, assessing as he runs his hands over his chest, his shoulders, his face. 

“How do you feel? Does anything hurt?”

“I’m good,” Bokuto says, his voice soft and sleepy. “S’all good.”

“Good,” Keiji echoes. He leans down to kiss Bokuto deeply before settling down next to him. They tangle their legs together, wrap their arms around each other and press close.

“How ‘bout you?” Bokuto murmurs into his hair. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” Keiji says. “Very much so.” He traces his fingers along the fading rope marks on Bokuto’s chest. “You looked amazing like that.”

“Yeah?” Bokuto says with a drowsy grin. “I bet you’d look amazing like that, too.”

Keiji gives him a sly smile. “Then I suppose you better learn how to tie knots.”

So the next time they have a free afternoon together, Keiji teaches Bokuto some shibari basics.

Because the thing is, Keiji likes to be in control.

But he thinks he likes it even more when Bokuto takes control.

Bokuto has this unique ability with his hands, his mouth, his touch—he can completely short circuit Keiji’s brain in the best possible way. Keiji spends so much time thinking and thinking and overthinking. But with Bokuto he can turn all that off, he can let go, he can let the other man take care of him.

Because he _does_ take care of him. It’s like he always knows what Keiji wants, what he needs, how to read him. The same way Bokuto’s body has become a familiar place for Keiji, Keiji’s body has become a familiar place for Bokuto.

And as reluctant as Keiji is to give up control in literally any other area of his life, in bed with Bokuto, it’s easy. Everything with him is always so easy.

So when Bokuto ties him up, wraps the rope around his wrists in a simple pattern that binds his arms behind his back, there’s not a trace of nervousness. All Keiji feels is anticipation and arousal.

And he knows Bokuto can tell, from the soft brush of fingers, ghosting over his skin; from the low hum of appraisal in the back of his throat as his hungry eyes drag over Keiji’s body.

This is going to be good.

Bokuto kisses his neck, kisses down his chest, sucking and biting. It’s only fair that Bokuto gets to mark him, too. And Keiji doesn’t have to worry about changing in a locker room, so Bokuto is free to mark him anywhere his clothes will cover. He sucks a few hickeys into Keiji’s chest, just under his collarbones.

Bokuto’s hands explore Keiji’s body, light and teasing, because while Bokuto might not be the biggest fan of being mercilessly teased, Keiji loves it. The soft touches, the thrill of _almost_ , the steady build of anticipation. And Bokuto gives him exactly what he wants. Fingertips tracing his nipples, hot breath against his thighs. Keiji’s cock is throbbing, aching with desire. His hips buck, but Bokuto holds him down with one strong hand.

Bokuto lubes up his fingers, drags one across Keiji’s hole before pulling away. The contrast of sudden warmth then cool air sends his brain spinning. Then Bokuto’s finger returns, another light brush, slow circles around his entrance before he pulls away again. Keiji groans.

This time when Bokuto touches him again, he slips his finger in—just a little, just to the first knuckle. Then again he pulls completely away, the only skin to skin contact is Bokuto’s hand on Keiji’s hip, pinning him to the bed. An involuntary whimper escapes Keiji’s lips and Bokuto lets out a low chuckle.

After a few seconds—or maybe an eternity—Bokuto’s hand returns to Keiji’s hole. He circles the rim then again inserts only the tip of his finger. Keiji tries to shift down to take in more but the ropes and Bokuto’s hand on his hip keep him in place, keep him where Bokuto can control everything, can tease him to the brink of insanity.

“Please please _please_ ,” he whines, too far gone to even feel embarrassed about begging.

“Please what, Kaashi?” Bokuto says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you—inside— _please_ ,” Keiji gasps out.

When Bokuto finally pushes his finger all the way in, Keiji nearly sobs in pleasure. The slide, the stretch, the press against his prostate. Another finger. Bokuto biting Keiji’s thigh as his fingers thrust in and out. Keiji is moaning, panting, straining at his bindings—not because they’re too tight, not because he wants to be free—but because that delicious cut of rope digging into his skin is the only thing balancing the overwhelming pleasure so he doesn’t lose his entire goddamn mind.

_Fuck_ , Keiji loves having Bokuto’s fingers inside of him. They’re nice and thick and he knows exactly how to curl them to send wave after wave of pleasure crashing through Keiji’s whole body. But as Bokuto’s hand rocks back and forth, Keiji finds himself wanting _more_. More of Bokuto, all of Bokuto; something deeper, something bigger.

He wants Bokuto’s cock inside of him. He wants it desperately, urgently.

If Keiji asked him right now, would Bokuto fuck him? The plea almost escape his lips, but with his last shred of sanity he holds it back. He knows he shouldn’t ask like this, in the heat of the moment, before they’ve had a chance to talk about it.

Still—thinking about it, imagining what it would feel like for Bokuto to be inside him, stretching him out, filling him up in a way he’s never before experienced. Keiji’s orgasm rips through him with a sudden force—he comes on Bokuto’s fingers harder than he ever has before, fantasizing that it’s his cock instead.

Cum spills over his stomach; first his own, then Bokuto’s after the other man quickly strokes himself through his own orgasm. Keiji lies there, catching his breath and feeling boneless in the best way while Bokuto grabs a washcloth. He wipes Keiji off then carefully rolls him over so he can undo the bindings with gentle fingers.

Keiji flexes and stretches his arms when the ropes fall free, but that’s all he has the energy to do. He lets Bokuto reposition him on the bed, completely pliant under his touch. His mind feels… soft. Hazy with pleasure instead of sharp and crowded with thoughts.

It’s pure bliss.

“You okay?” Bokuto asks quietly as he settles down beside him, brushing Keiji’s sweat-damp hair away from his face.

“Very,” Keiji assures him, wrapping his arms around Bokuto and urging him closer, pressing their bodies flush together.

He knows he’s being clingy, but he also knows Bokuto likes that, so there’s no reason to stop. And as usual, with any affection that Keiji gives, Bokuto responds by giving back twice as much. He holds Keiji close, uses his fingertips to trace random patterns into Keiji’s skin, covers Keiji’s face with soft little kisses. Keiji smiles and hums contentedly.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve something this _good_. But for all the times Keiji has questioned what he did wrong in his past lives to bring present misfortune, he currently finds himself wondering if he’s now being rewarded for doing something right.


	20. Absolutely, Undeniably

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Find A Way by SafetySuit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQPnEnKTWUE)

“This isn’t happening,” Tsukishima says, looking up from the espresso machine with an expression of horror. “Tell me this is a nightmare.”

Keiji lets out a tired sigh. “Unfortunately that is not is the case.”

There’s a chime as the door swings open and the two volleyball players step into the café.

“Wow, this place is so cool!” Bokuto cries out. Half the customers turn sharply to look at the sudden distraction. “I can’t believe I’ve never been in here before!”

“Indoor voice, Bo,” Kuroo says, clapping his shoulder and pushing him toward the drink station where Keiji and Tsukishima are working. Luckily it’s not very busy at this hour, so they’re not backed-up with drinks to make.

Tsukishima levels his boyfriend with a glare. “Didn’t I forbid you from coming here when I’m working?”

“Aw Tsukki, don’t be that way! Bo wanted to stop by, how could I deny him?”

“Would you like a tutorial?” Keiji offers, and Kuroo cackles.

“Kaashi!” Bokuto says, still loud, but at least he’s trying. “You’re off soon, right? We can go home together!”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Cool! Oh, hey!” He scrambles to pull out his phone. “Look what Kuroo and Kenma just got! This is what I want for Christmas!”

“Who says I’m getting you a Christmas present?”

“Aghaaasheeeeee!”

Keiji works to keep his lips in a straight line. He nods at the phone. “Show me.”

Bokuto turns the screen toward Keiji, showing off a picture of Kenma lounging on a couch and playing his Switch with a small calico kitten between his arms, climbing up his chest to paw at his face.

“Isn’t she so cute??”

Keiji doesn’t want to admit that yes, she is very cute, so instead he asks, “You want a cat?”

“Yeah! Or a dog! Ooh, or an owl! Can we get an owl?”

“Absolutely not. Owls would make terrible pets. And we can’t have a cat or a dog, either. It’s not allowed in our lease.”

“No fair,” Bokuto says, slumping for three seconds before another idea strikes. “What about in the future?” he asks hopefully. “Can we move to a place that does allow pets?”

Keiji opens his mouth to reply but freezes because he doesn’t know where to start. The way Bokuto phrased that makes it sound like they’ll still be living together beyond the end of term, and they certainly haven’t discussed anything like that. But it feels… right. 

And Keiji doesn’t know what to do with that. He needs time to process these ideas and feelings and Kuroo and Tsukishima are now looking curiously at him so he just sighs and says, “We’ll see.”

Bokuto hums happily because of course he takes that as a yes. And it probably is, Keiji realizes. It’s become stunningly difficult to say no to him. Maybe Keiji is the one who needs the tutorial on how to deny Bokuto.

“Careful or he’ll get _you_ a cat for Christmas,” Tsukishima teases.

“I doubt that,” Keiji says. “Bokuto-san is an excellent gift giver.”

Bokuto perks up, beaming, while Kuroo asks, “Oya? What did he end up getting you for your birthday? He was stressing about it for a week.” 

Keiji makes sure his sleeves are covering the lingering rope burn around his wrists from where he pulled too hard at the binds last night. “A book I’ve been wanting.”

Kuroo scoffs. “Nerd.”

“Boring,” Tsukishima agrees.

Keiji catches Bokuto’s eyes for a fleeting moment and they share a secret smile.

“He gave me exactly what I wanted,” Keiji says mildly, feeling a bit pleased when Bokuto’s ears turn pink.

“Well you should thank me,” Kuroo says, and Keiji raises a questioning eyebrow. “I talked him down from getting you an owl onesie.”

“I see,” Keiji says to Kuroo. “In that case, I owe you my life.”

“Aghahsheiee! It was a really cool onesie!”

“Bokuto-san, I don’t think any onesie can be described as _cool_.”

“Hmph.” He folds his arms over his chest and pouts. Keiji fights back a smile. It’s honestly not fair of Bokuto to be so cute.

“Are you two buying anything or are you only here to annoy us?” Tsukishima grumbles, but Keiji notices that he’s currently making a drink that isn’t in their order line-up.

“The latter,” Kuroo says cheerfully. Then, “Oh, open table!” And he veers off to claim a recently vacated booth.

Tsukishima lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll be right back,” he says, picking up the drink he just finished making and following after Kuroo. As an afterthought, he picks up another drink that had been sitting off to the side for a few minutes, one that had been mistakenly made with regular chocolate instead of white chocolate.

“You can have this one,” Tsukishima says, offering the drink to Bokuto as he walks off. “It’s sweet. You might like it.”

“Hmm,” Bokuto says interestedly, lifting the cup to his lips. He manages to take one sip of it before Keiji is swiping it out of his hands. 

“Absolutely not,” he says, putting it out of reach and turning to the espresso machine to steam a fresh batch of milk.

“Akaashhhieeee! Whyyy?”

“You don’t even _like_ coffee,” he barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “And if you drink that, you won’t get any sleep tonight, which means _I_ won’t get any sleep tonight. Oh, stop pouting,” he chastises mildly when he sees Bokuto’s crestfallen expression. “What would you like for dinner? I’ll make you whatever you want.”

Bokuto instantly brightens and Keiji quickly amends, “Within reason.”

While Bokuto considers his options, Keiji pours the hot milk into a paper cup and stirs in a generous amount of chocolate syrup, topping it with an extra generous amount of whipped cream. 

“Umm... ooh! Chicken dumplings?” Bokuto finally requests.

Keiji purses his lips. Making dumplings from scratch takes a lot of time, and they don’t have all the ingredients on hand so it’ll definitely be more of a hassle than Keiji hoped for, but he knows as soon as he looks at Bokuto’s wide pleading eyes what his answer will be. God, he really does need that tutorial on how to deny him.

“Alright,” he says through a sigh. “But we’ll have to stop by the grocery store on the way home. Here. Hot chocolate.”

“Wow! Hot chocolate _and_ dumplings! Aghaashee! You’re the best!”

Keiji can’t help but smile as Bokuto takes a sip and lets out a little cheer.

“Aww,” Yachi says, looking over from her spot at the register. “You guys are so sweet together.”

Keiji grimaces. For a moment he’d forgotten he was at work—he was acting like he does at home and now Yachi thinks he’s _sweet_? Akaashi Keiji is many things but _sweet_ is not one of them. 

Bokuto starts laughing, “Bahaha Kaashi, your face right now! You look like Tsukki when someone compares him to Hinata!” He turns to Yachi and explains, “We’re, uh, not actually together like that.”

“Oh! S-sorry! I didn’t mean to offend—”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Bokuto assures her while Keiji continues to glower. “Honestly, I think he’s more bothered about being called sweet.” Keiji turns to look at him suddenly. “Am I wrong?”

And Keiji wants to grab his shoulders and shake him and demand, _How did this happen? How did you become somebody who knows me?_ But instead he pinches Bokuto’s arm and grumbles, “Shut up and drink your hot chocolate.”

Bokuto lets out a boisterous laugh that draws the attention of nearly every other customer as he goes off to sit with Kuroo at his table.

Tsukishima returns, rejoining Keiji at the drink station. After a moment he asks, “Are you bringing Bokuto-san to the Christmas party?”

Every year Early Bird throws a holiday party for employees and their plus ones. Keiji didn’t bring anyone last year, because he didn’t have anyone to bring, but this year is different. He hasn’t asked Bokuto yet, but he’ll surely say yes. They’ve already discussed how neither of them will be going back to visit family for the holidays, so they’ll both be home through the break. 

“Possibly.”

“You sure spend a lot of time with him,” Tsukishima comments.

“We do live together.”

“So? In the last month I’ve spent maybe an hour with my roommate, and that was mostly to argue about whose fault it was that our water bill was so high.” Tsukishima adjusts his glasses. “His, for the record.”

Keiji decides to redirect the conversation instead of rising to Tsukishima’s bait with excuses and explanations. “Then I take it you’ll be bringing Kuroo-san to the party?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Are you sure you’re dating?” Keiji asks with a smirk.

Tsukishima matches his smirk. “Are you sure you’re not?”

Keiji frowns a little. “Quite sure. I think I would know if I were in a relationship.”

Tsukishima gives him a look that Keiji can’t quite decipher. It’s an expression of disbelief, but there’s also something… smug about it, like he knows something Keiji doesn’t. It’s infuriating. Keiji keeps his expression blank so Tsukishima can’t tell it bothers him.

After a moment Tsukishima scoffs, and says almost as an afterthought, “Honestly, I don’t even know how you _deal_ with him.”

Keiji feels his blank expression slip. He turns to Tsukishima with narrowed eyes. His voice is quiet and cold as he says, “I deal with a lot of unpleasant people. I have never considered Bokuto-san to be one of them.”

Tsukishima blinks in surprise. “I didn’t mean—sorry.”

It’s probably the first time Keiji has heard Tsukishima apologize for anything. Even when he accidentally whacked Hinata in the face with a tray he’d only snarked at the other boy for not being fast enough to dodge.

“Hm,” Keiji says, a blunt acknowledgement of the apology as he lets his face slip back into something passive. “When you’re done with that latte the bathrooms need to be cleaned.”

He ignores Tsukishima’s look of dismay and returns to making drinks for the last fifteen minutes of his shift.

Cooking dinner that night is an adventure. Yes, making dumplings from scratch is a lot of work, and yes, it takes a lot of time. But Keiji enlists Bokuto’s help, and chaos aside, it ends up being way more fun than it has any right to be. Bokuto chops vegetables and preps ingredients, and of course he makes a huge mess and is entirely too distracting, but Keiji wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Bokuto is all smiles as he cracks jokes, and tells stories, and kisses Keiji’s neck while Keiji tries to focus on dividing the dough into even circles. Bokuto spoons out generous amounts of filling; Keiji redistributes the filling so the dumplings can properly be sealed. He folds them with careful fingers and passes them over so Bokuto can fry them in the pan.

The resulting dinner is delicious, and they both eat far too much. They’re so full they decide to skip doing the dishes for the night so they can change into pajamas and relax in bed with a couple episodes of their anime. When the credits are rolling after the first episode, Keiji figures this is as good a time as any to bring up what’s been on his mind all day.

“Bokuto-san.”

“Hmm?”

“I want to have sex with you.”

“Now?!” he turns so abruptly he almost sends the laptop flying off the bed.

Keiji fights a laugh as he saves the computer and carefully sets it aside. “Not right now. I thought it would be best if we discussed it beforehand.”

“Oh,” he lets out a breath. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Do you want to?” Keiji asks. They both shift on the bed so they’re on their sides, facing each other.

Bokuto hesitates, and Keiji feels a pang of worry. Maybe he doesn’t want Keiji in that way… 

“Do you _not_ want to?”

“No, no I do!” Bokuto says quickly. “I’m just… nervous, I guess?”

“You’ve had sex before.”

“Yeah, but _you_ haven’t. It’s a big first.”

“You know I don’t really care about that sort of thing.”

“I _know_ but like even when you’ve had sex before, the first time with someone new is always kind of a big deal.”

Keiji hums in acknowledgement. “Would you prefer to wait?”

“I mean, not really,” Bokuto confesses with a sheepish smile. “I _really_ wanna have sex with you. I think about it, like, all the time.” Keiji bites back a pleased smile as Bokuto’s hand settles on his waist, thumb rubbing over Keiji’s hip bone. “I just wanna do it right, you know? Make sure it’s really good for you. For both of us.”

“I think it will be. Everything else has been good.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto says, smile stretching bigger and brighter. “It has been.” After another moment of hesitation, he goes on, “And you’re really sure you wanna do this? In the beginning you said you wouldn’t want to…”

“Things have changed,” Keiji says simply. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, too.”

“You have?” Bokuto asks, grinning when Keiji nods. “And, uh. How do you want to do it? Like, do you want me inside of you? Or do you want to be inside of me?”

Keiji feels his face getting hot. “I’d like to try both, ideally. How do you feel about that?”

“Good,” Bokuto says quickly. “I feel good about that.” Even in the dark Keiji can see that he’s blushing too. “I, uh. I think you should top the first time.”

Keiji lifts an eyebrow. “Really?” he asks, though the more he thinks about it, the less surprising the offer is.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s, uh, probably easier for the one with more experience to bottom, and I’ve done it before, so. Unless you don’t want to?”

“No, I want to,” Keiji says. Then he bites his lip and adds, “But I do also want you to fuck me.”

“ _Jesus_ Kaashi,” Bokuto says, his grip on Keiji’s waist tightening. “I want that, too. I want it all.”

“Then we’re on the same page,” Keiji says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bokuto breathes. “Next week—we don’t have practice ‘cause of finals, then we have another week off for Christmas. So. That’d probably be a good time?”

“Yes.”

“And if you change your mind before then—”

“I won’t,” Keiji says firmly, and he pulls Bokuto closer, kissing him deeply in his best attempt to convey the message _I want this, I want you, I’m sure_.

And he is sure. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more sure of anything in his life.

They don’t end up doing anything more than kissing that night, both too exhausted from cooking and too full from dinner. They finish one more episode of their anime then fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Keiji wakes up in the middle of the night, blissfully warm and perfectly content. Bokuto is still sleeping so Keiji lets himself indulge, openly staring in a way he wouldn’t dare if Bokuto could catch him. 

He reaches out to gently brush the hair out of Bokuto’s face, fingers lingering against his cheek. He looks so soft and peaceful like this, so still and quiet when he’s asleep. Though if he’s honest with himself, Keiji does prefer him awake, when he’s bright and loud and always in motion.

Still, it’s nice to see him like this, too. It’s nice to see him any way, every way. 

He smiles and presses closer to Bokuto, seeking his warmth like a flower unfolding for the sun. God, Keiji really loves this. He could do this every day for the rest of his life and never tire of it.

He lets his eyes flutter shut and he relaxes… for about three seconds before his brain catches up and—

_Oh_. 

Wait.

Oh _no_.

It hits him, all at once. 

He is suddenly wide awake and _urgently_ needs to get out of here.

He gingerly detaches himself from Bokuto, slipping out of his arms, careful not to jostle him so Keiji is able to flee without a confrontation. He escapes back to his own room where he can lie alone on his cold small bed and panic in peace. He stares at the ceiling and wrings his hands, mind whirling, heart racing as the weight of the situation squeezes his lungs.

It’s 3am on a cold Tuesday in December and Akaashi Keiji is absolutely, undeniably, hopelessly in love with his roommate.

_Fuck_.


	21. Purely Physical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tx6_mKDUTGk)

Keiji feels like a fucking idiot.

Bokuto can probably tell that something is wrong, but for the most part, Keiji thinks he does a pretty good job at hiding his panic. It helps that end of term exams are next week and they’re both swamped with studying. He can explain his strange behavior away as stress over finals instead of admitting that he’s having a meltdown because he discovered he’s in love with his roommate.

How long has he been like this? Keiji can pinpoint the moment he realized, but he can’t figure out when it actually happened. Was it that night they confessed that they’d never been closer to anyone else? The Halloween party when Keiji wanted to be the only one who got to touch Bokuto? Or the night Bokuto saved him from the edge of an anxiety attack with an understanding smile and a plate of warm food? Or maybe Keiji fell in love before their arrangement even started, when he learned that Bokuto had been making coffee every morning just for him.

Or maybe it was none of those. Maybe it was one of the hundreds of other moments in between. There’s been so many. Keiji couldn’t catalogue them all if he tried.

Fuck. Keiji is so _fucked_.

Maybe he was in denial before. Maybe that was excusable. But now he _knows_. Now he’s very aware of his feelings for Bokuto. Now it’s like he’s lying every time they touch, because he remembers, months ago, Bokuto said he trusted Keiji because _you won’t pretend to like me more than you do._

But here he is, pretending to like him _less_ than he does. And isn’t that just as deceptive? Would Bokuto still go along with their arrangement if he knew the truth of Keiji’s feelings? Or would that complicate things to the point that they’d have to end this?

Keiji doesn’t want to end this. But he’s not sure how to keep going now that he _knows_.

Because, okay, he has these feelings—but what the fuck is he supposed to _do_ with them? A relationship still wouldn’t work. Keiji is still bad at them. That’s still something he doesn’t get to have. And Bokuto still doesn’t want one. Even if by some chance he did feel the same way—which he might, maybe, sometimes when they’re kissing Keiji thinks it’s possible—but emotions aside, they still have an expiration date.

Bokuto is going to graduate in a year and go off to play pro, touring the country and traveling around the world and having an illustrious career under the public eye. Bokuto’s priority will always be volleyball. There’s no place for Keiji in his future.

So Keiji can’t burden him with his feelings. He won’t. He’ll just… handle his emotions on his own. He’ll repress, he’ll endure, he won’t let anything show.

And Bokuto never has to know.

It’s easier that way.

Though maybe not easier for Keiji. The days following his realization are a special brand of torture.

He’s so much more attuned to the easy affection Bokuto is always giving him, and it makes him feel like he’s somehow tricking Bokuto, misleading him. Contrasting desires tear Keiji in opposite directions—he wants to lean in, he wants to respond in kind; but he doesn’t think he deserves to, so he also wants to pull away.

His selfish side wins; he doesn’t pull away. He’s simply not that strong. He hates himself a little for it.

On Sunday evening they’re cuddled on the couch together watching a movie. Well, Bokuto is watching. Keiji is distracted by the way Bokuto is wrapped around him, face nuzzling his neck, their fingers laced together. It’s comfortable, and sweet, and oh so familiar. It’s also ridiculous, because now that Keiji thinks about it, it’s not even like they’re dating—it’s more like they skipped dating entirely and went straight to being fucking married and stupidly in love.

Except the stupidly in love part only applies to one of them.

“Hey, are you okay?” Bokuto asks, pulling Keiji out of his spiraling thoughts. “You’ve been kinda distant lately.”

Instead of replying with words, Keiji turns his head and kisses him, and Bokuto doesn’t hesitate to kiss him right back. But when they break apart, Bokuto still looks concerned, so Keiji says, “I’m fine. Just stressed.”

Bokuto hums in acknowledgement. “You seem really in your head about something,” he says, because of course he’s noticed. He can read Keiji like no one else has ever been able to. He lifts a hand to brush Keiji’s hair away from his face. “What are you thinking about?”

After a moment Keiji confesses, “How much I want you.”

It’s not a lie. It’s okay, because it’s not a lie. 

“I want you, too.” Bokuto grins, open and pure.

There’s a painful tugging in Keiji’s chest. How did he not realize his feelings sooner? God, he’s so stupid. He’s so fucking in love it hurts.

“I, uh, don’t have practice tomorrow,” Bokuto says meaningfully, leaning in to kiss Keiji’s neck. “Do you still want to…?”

_More than anything._

“Yes,” Keiji says.

They turn off the TV and get up from the couch, Bokuto grabbing Keiji’s hand to lead him down the hallway to his bedroom. 

Keiji takes a few calming breaths. He can do this. He can prove to himself that his feelings won’t get in the way of their arrangement. Nothing has to change. They don’t have to stop. He can keep this purely physical. He repeats those last two words to himself, over and over again like a mantra.

It helps that Bokuto’s touch turns off his brain, mellows out the whirlwind of thoughts spinning through his head. When Bokuto’s hands are on him, it’s easy for Keiji to focus on the here and now, the feel of skin against skin, the way Bokuto’s lips move in a desperate rhythm with his own.

They undress each other between kisses. There’s something new in the air between them. An electric tension, because they both know what’s about to happen. But there’s also something old in the air between them. Comfortable affection, the ease of a routine they’ve built together over the last few months.

They lie naked on the bed together, and Keiji runs his fingers down the familiar landscape of Bokuto’s body. His chest, his arms, his stomach, his thighs. It’s just like every other time before, but it’s also so so different.

Keiji grabs the bottle of lube and a condom from the bedside table. He slicks up his fingers and starts preparing Bokuto, slipping in one, then another. As usual, the overwhelming sensation of that tight heat spikes Keiji’s arousal. Soon, he wont have to wonder what it would be like to slide his cock into Bokuto. Soon, he’ll know.

He pushes in a third finger, moving them back and forth, stretching and pressing up against his prostate. He pays close attention to Bokuto’s breathy whimpers, bringing him closer to the edge but not over it. Not yet. As his fingers work he kisses and bites at Bokuto’s thighs, sucking a few new marks into the soft skin there.

When Bokuto is easily accepting three fingers, Keiji pulls away and reaches for the condom. He tears open the wrapper, turning the piece of rubber over in his hand. He’s never used one of these before. He’s not sure exactly how.

“Here,” Bokuto says, sitting up. “Let me.”

Keiji kneels on the bed, balancing with a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder as Bokuto takes the condom and slides it down Keiji’s length, adding a bit more lube. Keiji’s hips buck involuntarily at the touch. For a moment they look at each other, and then they’re both moving forward, lips colliding. 

“Are you ready?” Keiji asks, a soft murmur against Bokuto’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Bokuto smiles. “Are you?”

Keiji just kisses him again, then presses him back down on the bed. He hikes up Bokuto’s legs, hooking one over his shoulder and one in the crook of his arm. Then he lines himself up to Bokuto’s entrance and slowly slowly starts to push in.

Keiji leans forward as he sinks into Bokuto, folding his legs to his chest, because of course Bokuto is flexible enough to do this. Their faces are close enough that they’re sharing the same breath, close enough that they could kiss, even in this position. The pros of bedding a soon-to-be-professional athlete.

With a final thrust, Keiji’s cock is sheathed entirely inside Bokuto, heat and pressure all around him. Bokuto lets out a little gasp, and Keiji searches his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto breathes. “Yeah, perfect.”

“Okay,” Keiji murmurs, placing a few kisses along Bokuto’s jaw. He takes a deep, rattling breath. “Okay.”

He can handle this.

He starts moving his hips back and forth, slow and steady because he won’t last very long if he goes much faster. Bokuto is so tight, and so warm, and even with the thin layer of latex between them the contact is electric. Already he feels borderline delirious with pleasure.

And Bokuto is looking at him, soft eyes shining gold in the moonlight, and Keiji reaches a hand out to touch his face, thumb stroking his cheek. This feeling inside of him swells, like it’s bigger than his body, like something trying to escape.

“I…” he chokes on the words to keep them in trapped in his throat.

_I love you._

Fuck.

He can’t handle this.

He’s fucking losing it. His feelings are seeping through the cracks in his armor. Because it’s not just that he has feelings—it’s the _intensity_ of them. Like they’re threatening to burst out of his chest with every goddamn breath. He’s suddenly terrified his heart is showing through his eyes.

“Kaashi? You okay?”

Keiji realizes he’s stopped moving. “Yes, fine,” he says quickly. “Ah, can you turn over? It will be…” _Easier, if I’m not looking at your face._ “More comfortable for you.”

While Bokuto flips over onto his knees, Keiji tries to talk himself down from his panic. He needs to detach himself from the situation. Focus on physicality instead of feelings. Skin and sweat. Touch and taste. Everything he can see and nothing he can’t. There’s nothing tangible about emotions. It’s like they aren’t even real. He’s nothing but a body, they’re just two bodies, coming together.

He lines himself up with Bokuto’s entrance again and slides back in, running his hand down the ridges of Bokuto’s spine. He turns his brain off, shuts his heart down, and focuses entirely on his movements. Pure sensation. Nothing more. He picks up his pace, numb to everything but the hazy pleasure fogging up his head.

He puts his hands on Bokuto’s hips, but his skin is slicked with sweat, and Keiji’s fingers keep sliding off. Like he’s untouchable. Like he’s a hurricane in human form—impossible to hold onto, water and wind slipping through your fingers, something you don’t get to keep. Wild beauty and ruthless devastation in equal measure.

Keiji’s not sure this is a storm he can weather. He feels like he’s drowning in Bokuto. Falling, falling; deeper, deeper.

Then Bokuto is moaning his name, and Keiji’s still not sure what battle he’s been fighting but he knows he’s already lost. He closes his eyes and surrenders to the sensations of Bokuto’s skin, the heat enveloping him and setting every nerve on fire.

He thrusts in an erratic rhythm, faster, harder, and then Bokuto is groaning as he comes, and the contraction of muscles clenching around Keiji’s length sends him surging into his own climax. Pleasure courses through him, dizzying and intoxicating as he rocks against Bokuto and rides out the pulses of his orgasm. 

He slows his pace, then stops, still buried deep inside Bokuto. He stays like that as he catches his breath, collects his bearings, grounds himself. Then he pulls out, making sure to hold the condom in place so it does’t spill. Bokuto makes a soft whimpering sound at the loss of contact. Keiji quickly tosses the condom into the trashcan then shifts his attention back to Bokuto, turning him around so they’re facing each other.

“Are you okay?” he asks, brushing Bokuto’s damp hair away from his forehead.

Bokuto hums in assent. “I’m great,” he says, with a soft, blissed-out smile. “That was amazing. Kaashi, was it good for you too?”

“Yes,” Keiji breathes, even though he feels a little like crying, then he lets Bokuto pull him closer and crash their lips together.

When they break from the kiss, they lie there for a moment, bodies pressed together, air cooling the sweat on their skin. Keiji thinks he could die happily right here right now just like this. He thinks that might be easier than dealing with this feeling in his chest.

“Bathroom,” he murmurs, and he calls upon every ounce of willpower in his possession to pull himself away from Bokuto and walk down the hall.

His fingers are shaking as he splashes cold water on his face and stares himself down in the mirror.

He can’t do this. It’s not purely physical, and he _can’t fucking do this_. 

His emotions are utterly out of control and he desperately needs to stop feeling this way. He needs time and distance to get his head back on straight.

Which means he can’t be around Bokuto.

As soon as he leaves the bathroom, he hears Bokuto calling him, “Kaaaashiiiii! Come baaack! I miss you.”

“I’ve been gone for two minutes,” he says, hovering just outside the room.

“Still,” Bokuto replies with a dopey grin, and Keiji feels like his heart is cracking apart.

He stays in the doorway. “I, ah, actually need to study more tonight. Can’t sleep yet.”

“…Oh. Okay,” Bokuto says, his voice small and disappointed. It makes Keiji want to run away or maybe run back to bed to hold Bokuto forever. “You’ll come back soon?”

Keiji gives a noncommittal hum and flees to his own room.

Alone in his bed, he tells himself this is for the best. If he stays away from Bokuto, his feelings will fade. It’s that easy.

His feelings don’t fade, and there’s nothing easy about it.

Staying away from Bokuto only makes him feel worse and worse with each passing hour. Every time he brushes off affection, every time he makes a lame excuse to be elsewhere, every time he sees Bokuto’s crestfallen expression—it’s like something inside Keiji’s chest is bleeding.

“Did I do something wrong?” Bokuto asks quietly on the afternoon of the third day Keiji has been avoiding him.

“No,” Keiji says firmly, because at least he can give him this much, this reassurance that it’s not his fault. “No, of course not. I’m just… very busy. I’m sorry.”

Then he flees the apartment before his willpower crumbles and he gives in.

After two more days, his willpower crumbles anyways. Keiji misses him. He more than misses him—he craves him, he aches for him. He feels like a goddamn addict itching for a fix.

Somehow he makes it through his exams, but by the end of the week his sanity and self-control are both shredded. The plan to avoid Bokuto was _fucking stupid_ anyways. So. Keiji will handle this another way. If he can’t get rid of his feelings, he’ll go back to just… dealing with them. It’s better than any alternative. He’ll try again to smother them down, hide them behind his indifferent expression like he does everything else he feels.

And Keiji can finally _be_ with him again. Sure, it’s probably worse for his heart in the long run, but who fucking cares anymore? He just needs Bokuto to touch him. Everything will be fine, as long as he can have that.

When he gets home from his Saturday afternoon shift at Early Bird, Keiji finds Bokuto sitting on the couch.

“Hey, Kaashi,” Bokuto says, cautious and tentative, like he expects Keiji to run off at any moment. Which is fair, considering that’s what Keiji’s been doing all week.

But today Keiji is a man on a mission.

“Hi,” Keiji says, and he crosses the living room and climbs into Bokuto’s lap, straddling his thighs. Bokuto’s eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t protest as Keiji leans in to kiss him. When they break apart to take a quick breath, Keiji lets out a content sigh, feeling ignited and relaxed all at once. God, he missed this. So, so much. He presses closer, leans in for more.

Bokuto’s hands are resting on his hips, but there’s a hesitance to his touch, to the way he’s kissing Keiji. He’s holding back. Is he still worried Keiji is going to leave?

“Let’s move to the bedroom,” Keiji murmurs against his lips. When Bokuto doesn’t say anything, Keiji pulls back to give him a questioning look.

Bokuto glances off to the side. “I, uh,” he swallows. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Oh.” Keiji blinks, unsure how to proceed. He feels suddenly awkward on Bokuto’s lap, so he slides off to sit on the couch beside him. “Can I ask why?”

“I just… don’t feel like it right now,” he says.

But he’s avoiding eye contact. Is he lying? He’s never been like this before. Why would he turn Keiji down? A potential reason floats miserably to the surface of his mind. 

“Have you been intimate with someone else?” he asks, struggling to keep his voice from showing the dread he feels. His stomach twists into knots at the thought. “I don’t care if you have,” he adds quickly, the words coming out in a harsh rush that burns his throat. “But if that’s the reason, I’d like to know.”

The look Bokuto gives him is indiscernible. His eyebrows crease together as he huffs out a breath and says, “Is that really what you think?”

But he doesn’t say no. Why doesn’t he say no?

“Bokuto-san, if you can’t be honest with me then this arrangement isn’t going to work,” Keiji says, like a fucking hypocrite.

Bokuto is quiet for a long moment, and when he does finally speak his tone is quiet and flat and very unlike him. “This arrangement already isn’t working.”

“What?” Keiji feels like half his organs have stopped functioning. “I thought—” he swallows and tries to calm himself. “Can you tell me what exactly isn’t working for you?”

_I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything._

But Bokuto only shakes his head. “I think I should just—go. Might not be back for a while.”

“What—what are you saying?” Keiji asks. His heart is pounding so hard it’s threatening to break out of his chest. “Are we—is this—done?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto says through a sigh, and he still won’t meet Keiji’s eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Then he gets up and walks out of the apartment.

And Keiji is alone.


	22. Meaningless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Afterglow by Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HxbqAsppwU)

It’s for the best.

That’s what Keiji keeps telling himself. Over and over and over again.

He even almost believes it.

The day after Bokuto ends their arrangement, Keiji picks up a second shift at Early Bird so he can work a double. If he’s going to spend the whole day miserable anyways, he may as well be on the clock and earning money. It’s a busy time of year. With Christmas only three days away there’s a steady stream of customers in need of caffeine, and Keiji is grateful for the distraction.

So he spends twelve hours making drinks, avoiding his own thoughts by focusing entirely on order after order. Chocolate syrup, steamed milk, espresso. Cold milk, matcha, ice. Coffee, cream, two sugars. He feels like a zombie, zoned out in front of the drink station, but his productivity doesn’t suffer, so nobody complains. Very few people attempt to make conversation with him, and those who do give up easily when they see how unresponsive he is.

At the end of the day, when he’s dead on his feet and has no more work to distract himself with, he makes a lame excuse about wanting to rest for a few minutes before heading home, then he slumps down into the back corner booth and falls asleep.

His co-workers must take pity on him, because nobody kicks him out when they close, and nobody says a word when he wakes up there the next morning.

The second day is better, and worse. Worse because every day without Bokuto is somehow worse than the last. But better because he’s convinced himself that logic is on his side, despite the emotions wrecking havoc on his entire existence right now.

Because again, _this is for the best_.

If he’s this devastated now, Keiji can only imagine how utterly destroyed he would be later on, if they kept this up, when Bokuto broke his heart. _When_ not _if_. An inevitability. So it’s better this way. He can survive this. But if he let himself go, if he let himself fall, if he really truly let himself feel… he might not ever come back from that.

It would ruin him; thoroughly, irrevocably.

When he’s sure Bokuto won’t be there, Keiji risks a trip to the apartment to shower and grab a fresh change of clothes. As he passes through the living room, he notices a single piece of paper sitting out on the table. He moves closer to get a better look.

It’s a rental renewal form for their apartment. Bokuto must’ve left it here for him to see. It shows that their lease is up at the end of February, two months from now. They’ll have to decide soon if they’re planning to stay.

Somehow it’s both not enough time and far too much. Because if it’s going to be like _this_ , Keiji doesn’t think he can handle another two _weeks_ let alone two more months. Maybe he can move back into the dorms. He probably wouldn’t be stuck with Daishou anymore, so it wouldn’t be as bad as it was before. Though having a bedroom to himself these last six months has definitely spoiled him. The idea of sharing a room with someone—

His train of thought falters when he realizes that he hasn’t actually slept in his own room for over a month. He’d been perfectly happy sharing Bokuto’s space. He didn’t even miss having a bed to himself.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

Not for the first time, Keiji’s mind spins in circles trying to solve the mystery of what exactly went wrong. He has his assumptions as to why Bokuto ended this, ranging from bad to worse. Maybe it’s as straightforward as Bokuto being tired of Keiji acting distant and confusing. Maybe it’s as gut-wrenching as Bokuto being involved with someone else.

Regardless of the specifics, the common thread running through all of his guesses is simple: Keiji is in love, and Bokuto is not.

He sets the paper down with trembling fingers. The apartment suddenly feels stifling, suffocating. The walls are pressing in, threatening to crush him, and at this point Keiji might welcome that.

Maybe this has _already_ ruined him; thoroughly, irrevocably.

Maybe he’ll be picking up the pieces of himself for the rest of his life.

On the third day, Keiji wakes up yet again in the back corner booth, but this time it’s to an angry-looking Konoha kicking his leg.

“Akaashi. You were supposed to clock in ten minutes ago.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He blinks, wincing at the early morning light filtering through the window.

“You look like shit,” Konoha says, but he passes Keiji a large cup of coffee, and he’s probably right anyways, so Keiji can’t hold it against him.

“Hmm,” he says in acknowledgement as he takes a few sips, the harsh burn of espresso giving him something to feel other than numbness.

“Let me guess,” Konoha says drily. “Roommate problems?”

“You could say that,” Keiji replies dully. “I don’t suppose you know anyone else looking for a roommate right now?”

“Funny you should ask,” Konoha says, but the light words don’t match his tone, all cold and sharp and delivered with a humorless expression. “Yesterday I had another friend mention he was trying to find a new roommate.”

Keiji looks up with mild interest, but the deep frown on Konoha’s face makes his stomach twist. The realization hits him like a train. “Bokuto-san.”

“What the fuck happened, Akaashi?”

“We had a fight. I think.” Keiji still isn’t sure himself what exactly happened.

“Yeah, I gathered that much,” Konoha says. “The man was a fucking wreck. What did you _do_?”

_I fell in love with him._ “I think I ruined everything.”

Konoha’s eyes narrow. “Did you cheat on him?”

Keiji almost chokes on his coffee. “What? No, _god_ —we weren’t—we weren’t even together like that. The thing between us was—we agreed from the start it was purely physical. Meaningless.”

Konoha gives him a skeptical frown. “So what happened?”

Keiji’s voice is barely a whisper as he confesses, “It’s not meaningless for me anymore.”

“No shit,” Konoha scoffs. “And that’s a problem because…?”

“He doesn’t feel the same.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Konoha groans, burying his face in his hands then dragging his fingers down his face. “You’re so stupid. Is that what you think? Is _that_ why you’re avoiding him?”

“He’s avoiding me too,” Keiji says defensively. “And it’s… more complicated than that.”

“Okay. Listen. It’s not my place to get involved, but you have to stop being an idiot and fucking _talk_ to him. Have you even told him how you feel?”

“I— _can’t_ ,” Keiji grits out. And he really can’t—he just can’t _do_ this sort of thing. His emotions are wild and out of control and it’s all too much. It’s not something he can think his way through, all he can do is _feel_ and he’s _helpless_ to it and it’s _awful_.

“You really think this is better? You think _this_ is easier than not telling him? Damn, Akaashi, I thought you were smart.”

“You don’t understand,” Keiji says insistently. “It’s not that simple.”

“Maybe not,” Konoha concedes. “But you still gotta do it.” Then he grabs Keiji’s arm and forcibly pulls him from the booth. Keiji is too disoriented to put up much of a fight as Konoha drags him toward the door.

“Konoha-san!”

“I’m kicking you out. You’re in no state to work today. Go home, Akaashi. Go home and talk to him.”

“I hate you,” Keiji grumbles, stumbling as Konoha shoves him out of the coffeeshop.

“Not as much as you’ll hate yourself if you don’t get your shit together,” Konoha says. “Is your pride really worth losing him?”

The door slams in Keiji’s face before he has a chance to reply. Not that he knows what to say. It’s just—it’s not _like_ that. Pride has nothing to do with it. Keiji is acting in accordance to logic, making decisions based on reason. Head over heart, as he’s always chosen before.

Still, Konoha’s words echo in his head the whole walk home. The _losing him_ bit is what really sticks. A life without Bokuto… god, just imagining it is unbearable. It makes Keiji feel cold, and empty, and incredibly lonely.

He’s not—he’s not really going to _lose_ him… is he? Fear and panic curdle in his stomach. Regardless of their physical relationship, Bokuto is the most important person in Keiji’s life. The one he's closest to. His best friend. So he _can’t_ lose him. Not yet; _not yet_. He’s only just found him.

Okay. Okay. Keiji has to talk to him. Bokuto needs to know why Keiji was being weird and avoidant, he needs to know that it wasn’t his fault. It was all Keiji— _Keiji_ is the fuck-up, not him. This is exactly why Keiji doesn’t _do_ this sort of thing. He just messes it all up.

So he’ll tell Bokuto about his feelings. He has nothing else to lose at this point, and it’s only fair. Bokuto deserves to have that information.

And even if Bokuto doesn’t feel the same, maybe it won’t bother him that Keiji’s in love. If Keiji assures him that he has no expectations, maybe they can go back to how things were, pick up their arrangement like they never stopped. And even if he doesn’t want _that_ , they could still be friends, couldn’t they? They were friends first, they can be friends again.

It would be enough. As long as Keiji can have him in his life in any way—it would be enough.

Bokuto isn’t home when Keiji arrives. There’s no official volleyball practice this week because of the holidays, but Bokuto mentioned that some of the team was still planning to meet each day. So that’s probably where he is. 

The apartment feels cold and lifeless without him here, without his smile, without his warmth. There’s a desperate part of Keiji that wants to crawl into Bokuto’s bed so he can wrap himself in his blankets, smother himself in his smell. But as crazy as he feels right now, he’s clinging to enough sense to keep himself from doing _that_. 

Still, he can’t resist picking up one of Bokuto’s hoodies and burying his face in it, breathing in his familiar scent. He goes to his room, slipping on the hoodie so he can trick some part of his brain into thinking Bokuto is there, so it can bring him some small semblance of comfort. 

He crawls into his own bed and waits for Bokuto to come home, hoping beyond hope that he hasn’t fucked everything up past the point of fixing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone say thank you konoha for bullying akaashi into facing his feelings


	23. The Best Way To Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Anywhere But Here (Orchestral Version) by SafetySuit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y9WCje3xUT8)

Keiji wakes to the sound of the apartment door opening. He groggily sits up, rubbing at his eyes and glancing at the clock on his phone. It’s still morning; he only fell asleep for an hour or so. He listens to Bokuto kick off his shoes in the genkan and shuffle down the hall.

He’s here. It’s time.

Heart pounding in his chest, Keiji climbs out of bed and leaves his room.

Bokuto freezes in the middle of their living room, inhaling sharply when he sees Keiji. He looks almost frightened, with dark circles under his eyes and his body slumped like he doesn’t have the energy to stand up straight. For a moment they just stare at one another, then Keiji breaks the silence. 

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“I thought you’d be at work right now,” Bokuto replies.

Keiji winces. He knew Bokuto was avoiding him, but still. “Konoha-san sent me home.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says, and his eyes fall from Keiji’s face to the hoodie he’s wearing. Shit. He should have taken it off before leaving his room. Bokuto pointedly looks away, and Keiji shifts awkwardly, feeling supremely vulnerable.

“Can we talk?” he asks, fighting through his discomfort.

“About what?” Bokuto asks dully.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t,” Keiji says. “I need you to tell me.”

For a long moment he is silent, then he drops himself onto the couch and lets out a defeated sigh. “Because this is over.”

He says it with such blunt finality that Keiji’s heart clenches. “I don’t want it to be.”

Bokuto scoffs. “Yeah, well you’re not the only one who gets to make that decision.”

And he’s right. It’s really that fucking simple, isn’t it? Still, Keiji can’t help but press, “But _why_?”

Another sigh that sounds like giving up. “Come on, Kaashi. Even you gotta know why being friends with benefits never fucking works out in the end. Someone always ends up wanting more than the other and it ruins everything.”

He knows. Keiji’s breath catches; he feels exposed, stripped bare. Bokuto knows about his feelings, and Keiji’s voice is so small as he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bokuto mutters.

“I tried to stop.”

“Well, we’re stopping now, so.”

“I don’t want to,” Keiji protests, helplessly, stubbornly.

“I don’t care!” Bokuto exclaims, almost rising up from the couch. But then it’s like he deflates, sinking lower into the cushions as he echoes in a quieter voice, “I don’t care.” He clenches his fists in his lap. “I can’t—I can’t stop loving you, but I can stop letting you break my heart over and over again.”

The words crash into him like a wave. Keiji stops breathing.

“You—” He swallows thickly. His voice is barely a whisper. “You love me?”

Hope starts to unfurl inside of him, foreign and dangerous and fragile.

Can he have this? Is he allowed to have this?

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto says, voice cracking. “I didn’t tell you before ‘cause I knew you would end it, and I thought having you like this was better than not having you at all. And sometimes when you were touching me… for a while I thought you felt the same. But then after that night we—” his words choke off.

Keiji is afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to risk shattering the moment. He’s never been so scared in his life.

“You figured it out, didn’t you?” Bokuto asks. “You got all distant and started pulling away and I just. I can’t do it anymore, Kaashi. One day you ignore me and the next day you want me and—” His voice breaks again, and his eyes are brimming with tears. When they start to spill down his cheeks Keiji fights a desperate urge to run to his side and brush them away with gentle fingers.

Bokuto swallows and goes on, “I can’t even be around you ‘cause I’m so fucking weak I’d just let you use me again and again, even knowing it would wreck me.” He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and lets out a humorless laugh. “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“I—” the words gum up Keiji’s throat. Everything he wants is within his grasp but one wrong move and his human storm will slip through his fingers like water, like wind.

He has to say it. He has to say it or he’ll lose him forever. And the only thing more terrifying than baring his feelings is keeping quiet and having Bokuto walk out of his life.

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji starts, taking slow, careful steps toward the couch.

Bokuto’s shoulders are hunched like he’s trying to make himself small, his head dipped down to avoid Keiji’s gaze.

“Bokuto-san,” he says again. “Please look at me.”

Bokuto doesn’t move. Keiji is standing right in front of him and he wants so badly to reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t think he’s allowed to do that right now.

“Koutarou.”

That does it. Bokuto lifts his head, startled, staring at Keiji with watery eyes. 

Keiji drops down to his knees in front of the couch, dips his head in a bow. “I’m very sorry I hurt you.”

Bokuto sniffles, wipes at his eyes again. “You can’t help the way you feel.”

“No, I can’t,” Keiji says, soft and insistent, even as his heart is pounding like it might shatter all his ribs. “And I’ve never felt like this before, and it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced. That’s why I tried to stop loving you.”

“What?” Bokuto breathes out, and he looks as scared as Keiji feels. It’s the overwhelming desire to console and protect him that gives Keiji the courage to go on.

“When we had sex, I was trying very hard to convince myself that I could keep this purely physical, but I failed. _That’s_ why I pulled away. I realized the depth of my feelings for you and I… panicked.” 

Bokuto says nothing, wide eyes blinking rapidly.

Keiji’s hands fidget restlessly in front of him, fingers rubbing over knuckles. “Because I’m so _bad_ at this, at being vulnerable and showing my emotions. And I know I don’t deserve you. God, you deserve so much better. You deserve someone who doesn’t have a fucking anxiety attack because they don’t know how to deal with their feelings. But I’m selfish, and I want you even though I don’t deserve you.”

“You love me?” Bokuto asks, his voice uncertain and meek and very un-Bokuto-like.

“I love you,” Keiji confirms, and it’s not as hard to say as he thought it would be. “To the point that it’s made me quite stupid.”

“You love me?” he repeats again, uncertainty replaced with awe.

The unadulterated adoration shining in Bokuto’s eyes has the words flowing freer from Keiji’s lips. He rises up on his knees and reaches out to grab Bokuto’s hands with both of his. “I told you before that I always thought this was something I just wasn’t meant for. I thought it would require too much effort, too much work, too much of myself that I would never be willing to give. But it’s so easy to love you, Koutarou. And I’ll give you anything _everything_ I have, if you want it.”

“You love me,” he repeats yet again, but this time it’s not a question. It’s a soft declaration.

“I do.”

“I love you!” A louder declaration.

Keiji lets out a breathy laugh that might be closer to a sob. “Yes, I know that now.”

Then Bokuto is launching himself forward off the couch, tackling Keiji to the ground and wrapping him in the world’s warmest, tightest hug. Even as his lungs are being squeezed, for the first time all week Keiji can finally _breathe_ again. He lets out a shuddering gasp and clings to Bokuto, fingers pressing hard into his back like holding onto him is the only thing keeping Keiji alive. At this point, that might not be far from the truth.

“I’m sorry,” Keiji says again, a soft whisper against Bokuto’s neck. “I’m sorry I was so stupid for so long.” He pulls back a little so he can place his hand on Bokuto’s cheek and finally finally brush his tears away. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Aghaashee,” Bokuto says, closing his eyes and leaning into Keiji’s touch.

“Keiji. I want you to call me Keiji.”

Bokuto’s eyes flutter open, tears on his lashes, as he echoes, “ _Keiji_.”

And his voice is so reverent that Keiji almost takes back the request because he doesn’t know if he can survive the way Bokuto says his name. But then he figures if he’s going to die, burning up under the brightness of Bokuto’s love would surely be the best way to go.

And there are a million thoughts still running through his head, a million things he still wants to say, but for now, it can wait. For now, all he can do is pull Bokuto closer and kiss him like he needs this more than air.


	24. Adore You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two songs of the day, both titled ‘Adore You’ - one by [Harry Styles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iquhBgM-Qv0) and one by [Miley Cyrus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pHnVBC98nis)

They stay right there on their living room floor for a while, exchanging kisses and soft touches and whispered words, like they’re both trying to convince themselves this isn’t a dream—it’s _real_ , this is _happening_. When they’ve come down a bit from the heightened emotions of their confessions, they move up to the couch.

Bokuto is chewing on his lip, curiously quiet as they settle down.

“What are you thinking?” Keiji asks, squeezing Bokuto’s hand. They sit pressed close together. It would take the literal apocalypse to drag him from Bokuto’s side at this point. (And probably not even then.)

“I guess I’m just wondering what this means for us,” Bokuto says after a moment. “Like, are we in a relationship now? Are you sure you—want this?”

Keiji swallows and hesitates, because he’s not sure about the relationship part, he’s still fucking terrified of what that entails. But— “I’m sure I love you.”

“That doesn’t really answer the question…”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” he says with a sigh. He runs his fingers over the grooves of Bokuto’s knuckles, fiddling with Bokuto’s hands instead of his own. What is he so scared of? Maybe he can work through this with logic.

“Bokuto-san, what do you think would change about our situation if we were in a relationship?”

“Umm… huh,” he says, pushing his lips together in thought. “I guess… we could go out on dates sometimes? And we’d be exclusive? Like, officially.”

Keiji nods in acknowledgement. “Anything else?”

“Umm, well, we could maybe tell people we’re dating? And… uh, I dunno…”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what?” Bokuto frowns a little. “I don’t get it.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a change,” Keiji says, processing the realization. “We’re practically in a relationship already, we’ve just been kind of stupid about it. Mostly me,” he amends. “I’ve been stupid about it. I was always so sure I would never be able to fit a boyfriend into my life, but you already fit. I thought this would be too difficult, but with you, it’s always been easy.”

“Boyfriend?” Bokuto asks tentatively. “Are you—does that mean you’re my boyfriend now?” The question overflows with hope, and Keiji feels a tugging in his chest. He loves this man _so fucking much_. 

“I still don’t know how to do this,” Keiji warns, hesitant, apologetic. “I might be a terrible boyfriend.”

“You won’t be!” Bokuto is quick to assure. “And even if you are, I don’t care! Be my terrible boyfriend!”

“You should have higher expectations,” Keiji chastises mildly. “But I’d like to be your boyfriend, if you’ll have me.”

“Yes! I want—yes!”

“Then, please take care of me.”

Bokuto pulls his hands free so he can hold Keiji’s face instead. “Of course I will!”

Keiji lifts his own hand to stroke Bokuto’s cheek. “And I’ll take care of you.”

They move in at the same time, lips meeting in the middle, urgent and soft all at once. It feels like a new beginning. It feels like coming home.

“What about you?” Keiji asks when they pull away to catch their breaths. “Are you sure _you_ want a relationship? You always said you didn’t want one, either.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto says slowly, considering. “I guess it’s like, I don’t want a relationship in general. Like if we weren’t together it’s not something I’d go lookin for. But if it’s you, I want it. I really _really_ want it. I want everything with you, Kaashi.”

Keiji laces their hands together again, playing with Bokuto’s fingers as he hesitantly asks. “Don’t you think we have an expiration date?”

“An expiration date?”

“Next year,” Keiji explains. “Everything will change. You’re going to graduate, and join a team, and you’ll be busy and traveling, and I’ll still be in school. Isn’t it inevitable that we’d have to break up?”

“Whoa, whoa, what do you mean break up?” His grip tightens around Keiji’s hands. “That’s so drastic! We might not get to see each other as much, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make it work!”

Relief swirls in Keiji’s chest, but it’s not quite enough to chase away his fears. “But doesn’t that feel… impossible?”

“No way!” Bokuto says firmly. “It’s not impossible—it’s just hard!”

Keiji almost laughs when he realizes he doesn’t have an argument against that. “You’re right,” he concedes. “And you’re not the type to back down from a challenge, are you?”

“Never,” Bokuto says fiercely.

“Me neither,” Keiji says, meeting his burning gaze. “And even if it’s hard—even if it _is_ impossible—I think I’d still want to try. I think this is worth it. You’re worth it, Koutarou.”

Bokuto’s lips stretch into a soft smile, his golden eyes sparkling. “You are too, Keiji.”

And then they’re kissing again.

Sitting side by side isn’t enough, so Bokuto pulls Keiji into his lap, bodies pressed together. So close that Keiji can feel Bokuto’s pounding heartbeat, and he’s sure Bokuto can feel his, too. 

Keiji winds his arms around Bokuto’s neck and kisses him deeply, trying to pour his entire soul into it. If his feelings are too big for his body, maybe he can share them with Bokuto, maybe he can show his love like this. Everything he has trouble saying with words, he’ll say with his hands, his lips, his body.

When they eventually break apart, both of them are flushed and breathing hard. 

“I want a do-over,” Keiji murmurs, tracing Bokuto’s bottom lip with his thumb.

“Hmm?” Bokuto gives him a questioning look.

“I feel like I messed up our first time having sex. I was… detached, too in my head, and then I ran away. It wasn’t very special.”

“But you don’t really care about that sort of thing…”

“You do, though,” Keiji says. “And regardless, I didn’t treat you the way you deserve. Let me do it again? I want to love you properly, Koutarou.”

“Okay,” he breathes, nodding. “Okay.”

Keiji climbs off of Bokuto’s lap, grabbing his hands and pulling him to his feet, never letting go as he leads them down the hall to the bedroom.

They exchange soft, languid kisses as their clothes come off. Bokuto’s hands dragging up Keiji’s back as he pulls his own hoodie over Keiji’s head. Keiji running his fingers down Bokuto’s thighs as he slides his boxers off to pool on the floor. Everything is slow; painfully, deliciously, slow. There’s no rush. They have all night, they have the rest of their lives, they have forever.

Lying naked together in this familiar, intimate space, with the comfort of Bokuto’s skin against his, Keiji feels safe. So he’ll remove his armor, he’ll crack himself open and let his feelings spill out, and he’ll trust Bokuto to gently kiss his pieces back together.

Because Bokuto deserves the world, and Keiji can’t give him that, but he can give himself. He’ll give Bokuto everything he can.

“You’re so beautiful,” Keiji says, touching his face, fingertips tracing cheekbones. “I don’t think I ever told you. It’s not just your body. It’s your smile.” He kisses the corner of Bokuto’s mouth. “Your eyes.” He kisses under one eye then the other.

“It’s your heart.” He presses his palm against Bokuto’s chest. “The way you move. The way you laugh.” He trails his hand down, over Bokuto’s stomach, across the soft skin between his hipbones. Bokuto lets out a breathy moan. “The noises you make when I touch you.”

He leans in to kiss along Bokuto’s jaw and murmur against his skin. “I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Keiji!” Bokuto chokes out. His eyes are shining like he might cry, and Keiji feels like he might cry, too. So he kisses his lips again, gentle but deep, and when a few stray tears slide down Bokuto’s cheeks, Keiji wipes them away and murmurs _I’ve got you, I’ve got you_.

He takes his time kissing Bokuto all over, touching him everywhere. His neck, his chest, his legs, his arms. He can’t get enough; doesn’t think he could _ever_ get enough. He only pulls away for a fleeting moment to grab the necessary supplies from the bedside table, and then he’s back, settling between Bokuto’s legs.

He presses his face against Bokuto’s thigh as he works him open, praising him and murmuring sweet compliments as he slides his fingers in and out. _You’re so good_ and _you’re so beautiful_ and _you’re so perfect_. Bokuto is a panting whimpering mess by the time Keiji finishes stretching him out.

Keiji’s fingers are slick with lube, so Bokuto helps him put on the condom again. They kiss once more, deeply, fervently; then Bokuto moves like he’s going to turn around, but Keiji stops him. 

“No. Stay like this, please. I need to see you.”

When he slides into Bokuto, they both gasp, sharing breath. Keiji has to take a second to rest his forehead on Bokuto’s shoulder and collect himself, overwhelmed with everything he’s feeling both physically and emotionally. Once he’s grounded himself, Keiji kisses Bokuto on the mouth again then starts to move his hips.

And it’s everything the other night wasn’t. It’s soft and slow and sweet, and Keiji can’t pull his gaze away from Bokuto’s. Instead of hiding his feelings, he does all he can to bare them, hopes his heart is showing through his eyes. He wants Bokuto to know how incredibly adored he is, and while Keiji might struggle to express his emotions with language, he can infuse what he feels into every look, every touch, every stroke.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

They come together, soft cries of _Keiji_ and _Koutarou_ spilling from their lips.

And this time, after they catch their breaths and do the briefest of clean-ups, Keiji stays, because from here on out he’s _always_ going to stay.


	25. Day One / One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Lover by Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLL2xTK35Qc)

They lie in bed for a long while after, quietly holding each other, touching and kissing.

“Hey, hey,” Bokuto eventually breaks the silence, running his fingers through Keiji’s hair. “Whatcha thinking?”

“That I love you,” Keiji says simply. It gets easier to voice every time.

There’s an intake of breath, and Bokuto’s other arm around his waist tightens. “I love you, too,” he says. “So much.”

Keiji presses his face close against Bokuto’s chest and smiles. “Since when?”

“Hmm, I don’t really know exactly…” Bokuto says thoughtfully. “I probably knew for sure when you came to my game. But I’ve kinda had a crush on you since day one.”

“Day one?”

“Uh huh. That first morning after you moved in, when you walked out into the kitchen. You looked all soft and sleepy and like so pretty it was unreal. And your shirt was kinda big so it was hanging off one shoulder.” He traces Keiji’s collarbones with his fingers, and Keiji shivers slightly at the touch. “I was so distracted I almost scooped my eggs onto the floor instead of a plate.”

Keiji pulls back a little so he can stare at Bokuto in amazement for a moment before confessing, “Bokuto-san, that morning when I saw you without a shirt on I walked into a wall.”

“What?! Wait, really?” He lets out a loud laugh, thankfully tipping his head back so it’s not directly into Keiji’s ear. “Oh my god, Kaashi! That’s so cute!”

“It was not cute,” Keiji grumbles, pressing against Bokuto’s chest again to hide his burning face. “I was suffering.”

“Oh man, you wanna talk about suffering?” he says with a low chuckle. “Training camp. If you ask Kuroo, he’ll say he had it worse ‘cause he had to listen to me whine for two weeks, but god I really missed you.”

“You did? But we weren’t even—we hadn’t even kissed at that point.”

“Yeah, but I dunno. I just missed your company. Missed your cooking. Missed seeing you everyday.”

“I missed you, too,” Keiji admits after a moment. “I was trying very hard not to, and I mostly convinced myself I didn’t. But in the back of my head I was counting down the hours until you were home. The apartment was too quiet without you.”

Bokuto makes a pleased little humming sound as he kisses Keiji’s forehead. “You know, I really thought you were gonna hate me after my birthday and Kuroo’s dare. But then you wanted to kiss _again_ , and that’s when I knew I was doomed.”

“ _Doomed_?”

“Yeah, ‘cause we started spending more and more time together, and I was starting to like you more and more. But I knew you didn’t want to date, and I was too afraid to say something and ruin this.”

“So the whole time…” Memories flash through Keiji’s mind, recalibrated to be seen from a slightly different angle, through another lens.

“You really couldn’t tell that I liked you?” He lets out a small laugh. “I thought I was so obvious! Guess I wasn’t that bad at hiding it after all.”

“Actually I believe I was simply more dense than either of us anticipated.”

Bokuto snickers. “You might be right about that. But I might be kinda dense too, ‘cause for a long time I figured it was just a little crush, not a big deal. Probably up until the Halloween party, when that girl kissed me, and all I could think was that I’d rather be kissing you, and _only_ you.”

“I was really jealous that night,” Keiji confesses in a low voice.

“Yeah, I know,” Bokuto says, his tone light with amusement. “You did _not_ hide it well.” Keiji huffs and pinches his arm, and Bokuto just laughs again. “Is that when you realized you liked me? ‘Cause that’s when I started thinking maybe you could…”

“No—well, I don’t know,” Keiji says, considering. “I probably should have. In retrospect it’s quite obvious that I had feelings for you at that point. I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I didn’t acknowledge it until the other week.”

“Ooh, what made you realize?” Bokuto asks eagerly. “Did I do something cool?”

“Definitely not,” Keiji says immediately and Bokuto pouts a little.

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on! Tell me!”

Keiji sighs. “It really was nothing. I woke up in the middle of the night, and you were still asleep, and I was just looking at you.” Keiji reaches up to brush Bokuto’s hair out of his face and gently touch his cheek, a recreation of that moment. “And it hit me, all at once.”

Bokuto turns into Keiji’s touch, placing a quick kiss to the inside of his wrist. 

“I’m sorry I took so long to realize,” Keiji says softly. “And I’m sorry I panicked when I did. I told you I’m not good at this sort of thing.”

“You’re not as bad as you think you are! Just—don’t run away anymore! We just gotta talk these things out and it’ll all be okay!” Bokuto says, arms squeezing around Keiji. “What about it scares you so much?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Keiji admits. “It’s all so new to me. This thing between us feels… big. And out of my control. I can’t think myself out of it, I just _feel_. And that’s terrifying.” He takes a breath, then gives voice to some of his biggest fears, “What if you get bored of me? Or you get sick of dealing with someone so difficult and closed off?”

Another breath, a quieter question, the greatest fear, “What if you stop loving me?”

“Not gonna happen,” Bokuto says immediately.

Keiji’s eyebrows crease together. “You can’t—”

“No no no, I know you’re gonna try to argue that! You’re gonna say something like, ‘Bokuto-san, you can’t know that for sure.’” Keiji frowns at the mocking impression, but Bokuto just grins and goes on. “But the thing is—you can’t know either! So arguing about it now is pointless, ‘cause there’s no way to know who’s gonna end up bein right!”

Keiji presses his lips together because he has no way to contradict that, and Bokuto’s smile widens. “But I’m tellin ya, it’s gonna be me. And even if you don’t believe me right now, that’s fine! ‘Cause I’m just gonna prove it to you every single day for the rest of my life.”

Keiji is momentarily speechless, then he’s stammering, “B-bokuto-san. That—that sounded like a proposal.”

“Kaashi!” Bokuto exclaims with a laugh. “We’ve only been dating for like three hours, it’s a bit soon for that, dontcha think?” Keiji lets out a long exhale and pinches him, causing Bokuto to laugh again and nuzzle closer as he adds in a soft voice, “But one day I’m gonna ask you for real.”

Keiji’s heart stutters in his chest. He meets Bokuto’s eyes, bright and golden and shining with adoration, and Keiji is sure his own eyes are reflecting the same. 

“Then one day I’ll say yes.”

They’re both starving by the time they finally make it out of the bedroom.

Keiji stands in front of the open refrigerator with Bokuto behind him, draped over his shoulders like the world’s heaviest cape as they survey their poorly-stocked shelves. It’s been a while since they went grocery shopping, so they don’t have a ton of options. Still, there’s an array of leftover side dishes and half a package of chicken, so Keiji can whip _something_ together.

“I could make us fried chicken,” Keiji muses. “Since it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Ooh, yeah! That sounds good!”

Keiji shrugs out of Bokuto’s hold to gather ingredients—chicken, eggs, and buttermilk from the fridge; flour, oil, and seasonings from the pantry. As he lines everything up on the counter, a thought strikes him. 

Keiji frowns. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Yeah, you just said that. Is something wrong?”

“I suppose not,” Keiji says with a little sigh. “It’s just—well, it’s not an ideal date for an anniversary. It will be troublesome for making dinner reservations.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Bokuto bursts into laughter. He moves forward and wraps Keiji in a hug, body shaking against him.

“What’s so funny?” Keiji asks, perplexed.

His voice is strained from holding back more laughter as he explains, “You’re—you’re already planning our future anniversaries. You’re so cute!”

Keiji ducks to hide his heated face as he grumbles, “I am not cute.”

“You really are,” Bokuto kisses the crown of his head and hugs Keiji tighter. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

Keiji lets out an exasperated sigh and pinches his arm. “ _Move_ or you won’t see _any_ anniversaries.”

“AGHAASHEEE!!” Bokuto wails as he shakes Keiji. “Don’t joke about breaking up!!”

“I’m not going to break up with you. That was a death threat.”

_“AHGHAAASHEEEE!!!”_

Keiji wants to pinch him again, so instead he tilts his face up and kisses him. Bokuto hums happily against his lips then squawks when Keiji breaks the kiss by pushing him away. “If you want to eat anytime soon you’ll have to let me cook.”

“Okay, okay,” Bokuto says, he leans in for one more quick kiss then backs off. “I’ll make some rice!”

While Keiji prepares the chicken, Bokuto fills up the rice cooker then busies himself with pulling some leftover side dishes from the fridge, heating up the ones that aren’t served cold. He makes several trips back and forth to the dining table, bringing out plates and chopsticks and napkins, touching Keiji every time he passes by—a soft kiss to the back of head, or a hand brushing down his arm, or his chin hooked over Keiji’s shoulder so Bokuto can watch as he flips the chicken in the frying pan.

It’s all so stupidly domestic, and Keiji loves every minute of it.

Bokuto finishes setting the table and comes up behind Keiji, winding arms around his waist and kissing up the curve of his neck, from shoulder to jaw.

“Keiji,” he says softly. “Keiiijiii.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothin really.” He grins against Keiji’s skin. “I just like sayin it.”

It would be entirely justified if Keiji could scrape together an ounce of annoyance at that, but all he feels is an overwhelming fondness for the man wrapped around him.

“Keiji,” Bokuto says again, but this time there’s more. “Keiji, I’m really really happy.”

This swelling in Keiji’s chest no longer feels like something dangerous and wild trying to escape; instead it feels expansive and free, like there’s a whole universe inside of him, and every single star is Bokuto. 

“I am too, Koutarou.”


	26. Storm Chaser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Electric Love by BØRNS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaZNYHkCbYI)

When Keiji returns to work the day after Christmas, Konoha is waiting for him. There’s a brief standoff as he eyes Keiji, and Keiji keeps his face carefully blank.

“So,” Konoha prompts after a moment of silence. “Should I offer my congratulations or my condolences?”

Keiji fiddles with his fingers and quietly admits, “Bokuto-san and I are dating now.”

Konoha smirks. “Question still stands.”

“Fuck you, Konoha-san.”

He cackles, then his face gets softer, serious. “Really though, I’m glad you two worked it out. I’ve never seen either of you happier than you have been these last few months.”

Keiji is about to say something like _thank you for your help_ or _I appreciate your support_ when Konoha goes on to add, “So, you know, good job on not being an emotionally constipated asshole anymore.”

And Keiji makes a face and deletes all the nice things he was going to say from his memory. “I truly hate you.”

After Keiji’s shift he goes home to eat dinner with Bokuto, then the two of them return to Early Bird for the holiday party.

The coffeeshop is closed now, so they have to knock on the glass of the front door and wait for Konoha to let them in. Konoha only offers Keiji a quick nod since they spent the afternoon working together, but Bokuto gets a more elaborate greeting. A _much_ more elaborate greeting. 

Keiji watches in amusement as they do a complicated handshake routine that involves no less than two minutes of choreographed hand motions, fist bumps, and hip checks. They’ve barely finished when there’s another knock on the door, and Konoha has to go let in the newest arrivals.

Keiji quirks an eyebrow at Bokuto. “What was that?”

“Wasn’t it cool?” Bokuto grins. “It’s the secret handshake for our high school team! Didja know me and Akinori used to play volleyball together?”

Keiji vaguely remembers Konoha mentioning that he played in high school. He never put much thought into it before, but it makes sense that’s how he met Bokuto. “I didn’t realize you’ve known him that long.”

“Yep! Since our first year at Fukuroudani! We were in the same class, too!”

Fukuroudani. The name triggers a memory.

“I almost went there,” Keiji says as he realizes.

“What!?” Bokuto yelps. “Really?”

Keiji hums. “I even received a recommendation. Though I ended up attending a different school, obviously.”

“Oh man! That’s so unfair!” Bokuto complains.

“Unfair?”

“I could’ve met you way sooner!” He lets out a dramatic gasp. “We could’ve played volleyball together!”

Keiji smiles, amused at his reaction. “I quit after middle school.”

“I would’ve convinced you,” Bokuto says fiercely.

And normally Keiji would reply with a flat _unlikely,_ but he’s in a good mood, so he decides to give Bokuto the truth instead.

“Probably.”

Bokuto grins and Keiji has to look away because he’s brighter than the fucking sun.

“Come on,” Keiji says, motioning to where cookies, pastries, and other baked goods are laid out on the counter. “I promised you dessert, didn’t I?”

“Oooh!”

They grab plates and browse through the selection, Keiji choosing his favorite coffee cake while Bokuto stacks his plate impossibly high with treats like his goal is to eat one of each.

“Bokuto-senpai!”

Keiji and Bokuto both turn to see Hinata approaching them, waving cheerfully with both hands.

“Hey, hey, hey! Hinata, hey!” Bokuto greets loudly. “If it isn’t my number one disciple!”

“Hinata-kun, if he’s being presumptuous feel free to tell him off.”

“Aghaashee!” Bokuto protests.

Hinata just laughs. “I didn’t know you’d be here!” he says, looking between them. “Did you come with Akaashi-san?”

“Yeah! He’s my—roommate,” Bokuto says, hesitating just for a second as he flashes a quick look at Keiji.

“Cool!” Hinata replies, either ignoring the brief moment of awkwardness or completely oblivious to it. Keiji would bet on the latter. “I brought Baka-geyama but he’s being a jerk so I wish I hadn’t.”

As though summoned by the nickname, the other boy appears quite suddenly behind Hinata. “Oi! Dumbass! I can hear you!”

Hinata makes a small _eep_ sound and turns around, cowering for a second before his posture turns challenging instead. “Well, you still gotta toss extra to me later! You promised!”

“And you promised me milk tea,” Kageyama grumbles, adopting his own challenging stance. Keiji can’t decide if they look more like they’re five seconds away from a brawl or five seconds away from making out.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll make you some,” Hinata says. “Come on!” He grabs Kageyama’s wrist and starts walking off toward the drink station, shouting a quick goodbye of, “See you later Akaashi-san, Bokuto-senpai!”

Keiji has a brief thought that the two of them should definitely _not_ be left unsupervised behind the counter, but, well. He’s not on the clock, so it’s not really his problem. And besides, he has something more pressing to address.

“Bokuto-san, can I speak with you alone for a moment?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.”

Keiji grabs his free hand and leads him outside to the covered patio, stopping only briefly along the way to set down their plates on an unclaimed table. Nobody else is outside (for good reason, it’s absolutely freezing) so they’re afforded a bit of privacy. Fairy lights hanging from the awning cast the area in a soft yellow glow. Bokuto gives him a questioning look.

“I should’ve asked this earlier,” Keiji starts. He hasn’t let go of Bokuto’s hand, absently playing with his fingers. “But are you uncomfortable with people knowing we’re dating?”

“What? No!” Bokuto says quickly. “No, I just—I wasn’t sure if _you_ wanted people to know, like before. I mean, I understand if you wanna keep it a secret. I know I’m kinda… _you know_.”

“No, I don’t know,” Keiji says with a frown. “And I’m going to be quite upset if you’re implying that I would be anything less than incredibly proud to have you as my boyfriend.”

“Really?” He sounds so tentatively hopeful that Keiji feels the urge to do something wild to prove his love—like propose or walk through fire or get a tattoo of his name. Whatever it takes to erase any last shred of doubt plaguing Bokuto’s mind.

“Really,” he says firmly, squeezing Bokuto’s hand in reassurance. “I don’t particularly want to broadcast the intimate details of our relationship, but I have no desire to hide that we’re together now.”

A smile starts to stretch across Bokuto’s lips. “So I can tell people that you’re my boyfriend?”

“Please do,” Keiji says, lifting his free hand to cup Bokuto’s face. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“Keiji!”

There’s a soft blush dusting Bokuto’s cheeks, and Keiji can’t resist closing the already small distance between them and pulling him in for a kiss. Bokuto’s hands fall immediately to Keiji’s hips, and Keiji wraps his arms tight around Bokuto’s neck as their lips move. He tastes sweet, like the cookies he was eating, and Keiji decides this is better than any dessert offered inside. He doesn’t even feel cold anymore—how could he when they’re pressed so close together and Bokuto is setting his whole body aflame? 

Just when Keiji is starting to think that they’re maybe getting a little too carried away in a public space, he hears the sound of the door opening and a surprised squeaking noise.

They break the kiss, both glancing over to find Yachi standing in the doorway, hands covering most of her face. Even in the low light it’s clear her cheeks are bright red. They quickly separate, and Bokuto goes to step farther away, but Keiji latches an arm tight around his waist, keeping him close against his side.

“Oh, hello Yachi-kun,” Keiji says, quite calm for someone who just had his tongue shoved into another man’s mouth. “I believe you’ve met my boyfriend, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s responding smile is blinding as he waves at her.

“O-oh yeah, n-nice to see you again, Bokuto-san!” Yachi says politely. She’s no longer hiding her face behind her fingers, but she is still blushing furiously. “Um, Akaashi-san, Konoha-san was looking for you—something about needing help with a disaster in the drink station?”

“Ah. Yes.”

He definitely should’ve seen that coming.

The three of them move back inside, and Bokuto goes off to chat more with Hinata and Kageyama while Keiji begrudgingly helps Konoha clean up the drink station. He’s honestly a little impressed by the sheer amount of chaos Hinata managed to cause in the short time he was left unsupervised. He truly is Bokuto’s disciple.

“You owe me,” Keiji grumbles as he grabs a mop to clean whipped cream off the ceiling.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure _you_ owe _me_ ,” Konoha says, needlessly smug. He gives Keiji a shit-eating grin and adds, “By the way, you know there are _windows_ overlooking the patio, right?”

Keiji’s face burns, and he briefly considers the consequences of braining Konoha with the blunt end of the mop.

The party is in full swing by the time Keiji and Konoha finish cleaning the drink station. Keiji’s lost track of Bokuto, but he’s not too worried. Bokuto thrives in this kind of social environment—by the end of the night he’ll probably be better friends with Keiji’s co-workers than Keiji is.

Before shutting down the espresso machine, Keiji steams some milk so he can surprise Bokuto with a hot chocolate.

“So, where’s your boyfriend?” asks a dry voice, and Keiji glances up to see Tsukishima watching him with vague disinterest.

“Probably doing something stupid with your boyfriend.”

Tsukishima’s smirk falters. “What, you’re not going to correct me?”

“I will when you say something that needs correcting.”

“Hm,” Tsukishima huffs. “Took you two long enough.”

Keiji can’t come up with a retort for that because, well, he’s not wrong. So he focuses instead on mixing the hot chocolate, and after another second he’s saved by Bokuto calling his name from the other side of the counter where the desserts are lined up.

“Kaashi!! Kuroo thinks he can fit more donut holes in his mouth than I can, so we’re gonna have competition to see!!!”

Keiji sighs. “Oh look, I was right.”

“Should we… intervene?”

Keiji quirks an eyebrow. “Are you that afraid Kuroo-san is going to lose?”

Tsukishima smirks again and lifts his chin in a challenge, light glinting off his glasses. “Not a chance.”

Bokuto ends up winning, of course. He then gives Keiji a sticky sugary victory kiss in front of everyone, and Keiji blushes while Bokuto smiles, beaming like the star he is. Though he’s _not_ smiling later that night when they’re back home and he has a terrible sugar-induced stomachache, but Keiji kisses his forehead and rubs his back in soothing circles until he falls asleep, so it all turns out okay in the end.

On the first day of January, they do a shrine visit together to welcome in the new year. Bokuto declares it a date and wants to go all out, so Keiji is coerced into wearing a kimono that Bokuto borrowed for him. Keiji will admit they _do_ look good together—Bokuto in black with gold accents, and Keiji in deep blue lined with silver. He doesn’t even protest when Bokuto wants to take three dozen selfies of the two of them. Bokuto immediately sets one of the pictures as his phone’s lockscreen, and Keiji resists the urge to kiss him all over, instead starting a list in the back of his head of things to do to him once they’re alone again.

The crowds at the shrine are huge and overwhelming, but having Bokuto at his side helps, so Keiji is actually able to appreciate the atmosphere of the New Year celebration. He takes in the near-tangible excitement of a fresh beginning, the tempting smells of street food, the ringing of bells sounding over the din of voices. They wait in line—usually together, but sometimes Keiji holds their spot alone while Bokuto flits off to various food stands to buy them snacks.

By the time they get to the front of the queue, Bokuto is vibrating with anticipation. “I don’t know what to wish for!” he says, looking suddenly concerned for a second before he gives Keiji a grin and squeezes his hand. “I have everything I want right here.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Keiji mutters, feeling his face heat up.

“Yeah, but you love me,” Bokuto says with a cheeky smile.

Keiji meets his eyes and says simply, “I do.”

And then it’s Bokuto’s turn to blush. “Keiji!”

Keiji looks away. “You should pray for good grades. You could use the help there.”

“Keiiijiiiii!” Bokuto says again with three times the vowels and three times the whine.

Keiji ducks his head so Bokuto doesn’t see how big his smile is. He grips Bokuto’s hand tighter, unwilling to let go until he absolutely has to. Not for the first time, Keiji feels like an idiot for resisting this for so long. Being with Bokuto is so easy and nice and Keiji feels so damn _happy_ and also incredibly _stupid_ for wasting so much time before getting to this point.

What was he even afraid of? Being with Bokuto Koutarou—loving him, being loved by him—has to be the greatest privilege of Keiji’s life. He still has his doubts about whether or not he truly deserves this, but that doesn’t matter. Now that he has it, he is _never_ going to give it up.

They go through the traditional hatsumode routine: they make their offerings and their wishes, they collect their fortunes, they burn last year’s omamori and buy new charms. When they’re finished with all that, they wander the temple grounds together, enjoying the atmosphere, buying more food, playing festival games.

Keiji steers Bokuto away from the goldfish scooping stand because he doesn’t want to console a sad boyfriend when the fish inevitably die in a few days. He challenges him to a ring toss competition instead. Bokuto ends up winning, and Keiji frowns for more than one reason when he sees the now-empty skewer clutched in Bokuto’s hand.

“Did you eat the rest of my yakitori?”

“What yakitori?” Bokuto asks, guiltily shifting his hands behind his back.

“Hmm.” They’re somewhat hidden from view behind a food stand, so Keiji grabs the outer collar of his kimono and pulls him in for a kiss. Bokuto makes a sound of surprise but eagerly reciprocates, smiling when they break away. Until Keiji says, “I can taste it on your lips.”

“Er, well—”

He’s interrupted by a loud gasp and an accusatory shout of “It’s you!”

They both turn to see Oikawa pointing at them with his mouth hanging open and Iwaizumi at his side looking only slightly less surprised. “ _You’re_ the one Bokkun has been dating!”

Instead of explaining the complexities of their situation (they’re dating _now_ though they weren’t dating _then_ even though they actually kind of _were_ dating then) Keiji just sighs. 

“Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san,” he says nodding in greeting as the two approach.

“Uh, hey guys!” Bokuto says, scratching his head sheepishly. “What’s up?”

“Aka-chan! I can’t _believe_ you didn’t tell me!” Oikawa complains, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought we were friends!”

“Why would you think that?” Keiji asks drily, and Bokuto fails spectacularly at covering up his laugh. Even Iwaizumi smirks, while Oikawa just makes a wounded sound.

“Come on, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says, elbowing his boyfriend. “Leave them alone. We’re already late to meet your parents.”

Oikawa still looks like he has an interrogation planned, but then Iwaizumi goes on, “If you hurry, I’ll buy you milk bread.” Oikawa hesitates, clearly torn. “And if you don’t hurry, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Okay, fine!” Oikawa gives in. “We’ll continue this conversation later!” he adds threateningly to Keiji and Bokuto.

They say some quick goodbyes then walk off, Oikawa hanging on Iwaizumi’s arm and going on about _Iwa-chan! Why couldn’t_ we _wear matching kimonos?_

Bokuto watches them go, then turns back to Keiji, leaning in with a smile. “Now where were we?”

Keiji lifts his hand between them to block the kiss. “I believe you were about to buy me replacement yakitori.”

“Okay!” Bokuto agrees easily.

And then he’s running off again, tearing through the crowds, and Keiji is sighing, exasperated and fond, as he follows after him.

Because Bokuto Koutarou is a hurricane in human form, and Akaashi Keiji has fully embraced his fate as storm chaser.


	27. Firsts and Lasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day - [Easy by Camila Cabello](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X95tylIxAoc)

On a rainy day in early January, Koutarou comes home soaking wet. Of course he forgot his umbrella, even though Keiji reminded him ( _twice_ ) this morning. He walks down the hallway and into the living room, either ignoring or oblivious to the fact that he’s leaving a trail of rainwater in his wake.

“Hey, hey! Whatcha doin?” he asks, when he sees Keiji on his laptop at the table.

“Looking at apartment listings,” he replies coolly. Koutarou freezes, eyes flashing wide with worry, and it makes Keiji want to laugh—but more than that, it makes Keiji want to hug him and pet his hair and run his thumb over the crease between his eyebrows to wipe that expression off his face.

“Our lease is up soon, and a one bedroom would be cheaper,” he explains magnanimously instead of prolonging Koutarou’s suffering. “I found a nice option in the complex across the street.”

“You still wanna live with me?” Koutarou asks with a soft little smile.

Keiji makes a vague sound of affirmation, because he still has trouble casually baring his raw feelings, and confessing _I never want to live without you_ is something he’ll have to work his way up to. There are other ways of saying it without actually saying it.

“It doesn’t allow pets, but perhaps we can look for that in the next one.”

Koutarou beams, and Keiji knows he understood what he meant.

“It smells really good in here!” Koutarou says, inhaling deeply. “Are we having dinner early?”

“Not exactly.” Keiji glances toward the kitchen where tonight’s meal is simmering in a slow cooker. “It won’t be ready for a few more hours,” he explains as he closes the laptop and gets up, walking over to where Koutarou is standing. “But there is something I’d like to do in the meantime.”

“Oya? What’s that?” he asks, reaching out for Keiji.

Keiji keeps his distance, folds his arms over his chest. “I’ll tell you when you’re no longer dripping water all over our apartment.”

“Keiiijiii! I don’t mean to! I forgot my umbrella!”

“Yes, I noticed. Come on, you need to dry off.” He holds out his hand. “I’m not going to take care of you if you get sick.”

They both know this is a lie, but Koutarou places his hand in Keiji’s and allows himself to be led down the hall anyways. When they get to the bathroom, Keiji gives him a little push inside.

“Take off your clothes.”

“You know, if you wanna get me naked you could just ask,” Koutarou says, wagging his eyebrows.

“I _am_ asking.” Keiji rolls his eyes as he grabs a towel from the linen closet.

“Oh. Heh. I guess you are,” Koutarou muses as he pulls off his shirt and starts unbuttoning his jeans. He gives Keiji a sheepish smile. “That sounded smoother in my head.”

“Hmm,” Keiji says, trying not to look too amused as he leans against the wall and watches Koutarou undress.

Keiji doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ tire of this sight. He keeps expecting familiarity to dampen his desire for the other man, but so far the opposite has proved true. He knows Koutarou’s body almost as well as he knows his own, and yet every time Keiji sees him like this he’s nearly overcome with attraction and arousal. It’s a good thing Koutarou likes physical affection as much as he does, because if Keiji had to hold back from touching him all the time he might just die.

When Koutarou is stripped down to his boxers, Keiji passes him the towel and hangs his wet clothes over the shower rod.

“So,” Koutarou says as he dries off. “You gonna tell me what you have planned now?”

Keiji allows himself a small smile. “I want to have sex with you.”

Koutarou grins, eyes bright. “I always want that! But, uh, I have practice in the morning, so…”

“Yes, I know. That shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Wh—” Keiji sees the exact moment Koutarou’s expression shifts from confusion to realization. “Oh! Ohh. Does that mean—you want—”

“Yes,” Keiji says, and he steps closer, deciding he doesn’t mind if his own clothes get a little wet now. They’ll be coming off soon anyways. “I want you inside me.”

Koutarou swallows. He’s paused with the towel draped over his head, damp hair curling around his face. “Really? It’s your first time…”

“I’m aware,” Keiji says. “But I’ve been wanting this for a while. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“And—you’re sure you want it to be me?”

Keiji feels like smacking him. Instead he lets out a huff and says, “Yes, Koutarou. I want it to be you.”

And he doesn’t say, _I want you to be all of my firsts and all of my lasts and all the ones in between_ , but he pulls him in for a deep, heated kiss, and he hopes that conveys the message.

“Okay,” Koutarou says, a bit breathless when they break apart. 

“Good. We should go to the bedroom now.”

“Okay,” he repeats, making no effort to move.

“Unless you’d rather not?”

“No no no!” he says quickly, snapping out of his daze. He leans in for another kiss as he walks Keiji backwards out the door. “If you’re sure, I’m sure!”

Keiji hums contentedly against his lips and allows himself to be guided to the bedroom. Koutarou seems to have shaken off whatever hesitance he was feeling—his hands move eagerly, slipping under Keiji’s shirt as his mouth trails hot kisses down Keiji’s neck.

He makes quick work of removing Keiji’s shirt and sweatpants so they’re both down to their underwear. Keiji climbs onto the bed while Koutarou rummages through the bedside table.

Keiji bites his lip, considering for a moment before he says, “I don’t want to use a condom.”

Koutarou stops searching through the drawer to look at Keiji, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really? Won’t that be kinda… messy?”

“Yes,” Keiji says. “But I don’t mind. I want to feel you.”

“Oh,” Koutarou breathes. “Okay, yeah.” He swallows. “I’ve, uh, never done it without a condom before.”

“Hmm, me neither,” Keiji says, a smile pulling at his lips. “A first for both of us.”

Koutarou lets out a little laugh and joins him on the bed, climbing on top of him. “I love you,” he says, grinning as he leans down to kiss Keiji. “So much.”

“I love you, too,” Keiji echoes against his lips. “So much.”

And with that Koutarou’s kisses become deeper, fiercer. He rolls his hips into Keiji’s, grinding their cocks together, and even through the material of their underwear the contact feels amazing.

Koutarou kisses down his chest, down his stomach, teases his fingers under the waistband of Keiji’s boxer briefs before sliding them down his thighs. He settles between Keiji’s legs and there’s a clicking noise as he opens the bottle of lube.

Keiji curls his toes in anticipation, shivering with his desire to be touched. He’s been absolutely _aching_ for this all day.

Koutarou places a gentle finger against Keiji’s hole, moving in tight circles, slicking lube around his rim. When he finally presses in, Keiji _whimpers_. But that’s fine—he’s long past the point of feeling embarrassed about the noises he makes in bed, and anyways, Koutarou only takes those sounds as encouragement to double his efforts and make Keiji scream.

Koutarou adds a second finger, working up a steady rhythm that Keiji can match, rocking down on his hand with each thrust. He adds a third finger, and Keiji delights in the burn of the stretch, thrills in the knowledge that soon _soon_ he’ll be getting much more than three fingers. His own cock is throbbing, dripping pre-cum all over his stomach.

“I’m—ready,” he pants.

“Just a bit more…”

“Koutarou. _Please_ ,” Keiji whines, fisting the sheets in desperation. “Now. I _need_ —”

“Okay, okay,” Koutarou says, kissing Keiji’s thigh as he pulls out his fingers. Keiji whimpers again at the sudden loss. He watches as Koutarou strips off his boxers and pours more lube onto his hand, stroking himself a few times to spread it generously over his cock.

He wipes his hand on the bed sheets and moves in closer to position himself, lifting Keiji’s hips off the mattress and directing Keiji to wrap his legs around his waist. Keiji trembles when he feels the head of Bokuto’s cock lining up to enter him. “Are you ready?”

“ _God_ yes. Just—please put it in.”

“So demanding,” Koutarou teases.

Keiji huffs. “Koutarou, I swear to—”

His words choke off with a gasp as Koutarou starts to push into him. Keiji grips Koutarou’s arms, fingers digging into flesh. The stretch of Koutarou entering him is unlike anything he’s ever experienced, but somehow exactly what his body needs, the perfect blend of pleasure and pain he’s always craved. Koutarou’s cock is hard, and hot, and it fills him up so completely it makes Keiji feel whole.

When he’s all the way in, Koutarou holds himself completely still, giving them both a moment to adjust to the new sensations.

“Are you okay?” Koutarou asks, his voice rough.

“Yes. You can move now,” Keiji breathes.

“No, I—can’t,” Koutarou says through a shaky exhale. His cock throbs inside of Keiji, and Keiji’s body reacts automatically, clenching down around him. Koutarou groans into his shoulder. “ _God_. You feel so—”

Words seem to escape him, but Keiji knows what he means. “Yes,” he says, already winded even though they’ve only just started. “You do, too.”

Koutarou takes another breath, hot air against Keiji’s neck, then slowly he starts to move. He pulls halfway out then pushes in again, repeating this motion for a few shallow thrusts.

Keiji tightens his legs around Koutarou’s waist. “Deeper,” he requests.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Keiji assures him. “It feels—good.”

_Good_ is an understatement. It feels _amazing_. Incredible. Un-fucking-real. Keiji could compile a mile-long list of adjectives in at least three languages to describe just how _good_ this feels.

Then Koutarou deepens his thrusts and lifts Keiji’s hips higher, changing the angle so his cock is dragging over Keiji’s prostate with each pump.

“Oh my _god_.” Keiji’s mind goes blank, white-hot pleasure fuzzing his thoughts. There aren’t enough languages in the world to describe how _this_ feels.

Koutarou maintains a steady pace, grunting softly with each push. Their skin slaps together, slick with sweat, Koutarou’s hips repeatedly bumping the back of Keiji’s thighs. Koutarou tightens his grip on Keiji, fingers pressing hard as he lifts him even higher off the mattress, changing the angle again so his cock is more directly gliding against Keiji’s prostate.

Then Koutarou starts to increase his pace, his breathing going ragged. Keiji can feel that familiar pressure building inside of him, and he almost tells Koutarou to slow down—it’s too soon, he wants this to last longer—all night, forever. But he’s so delirious with pleasure, and even without touching his own cock at all he knows he’s about to tip over the edge.

“Kou—Koutarou—I’m—” 

He comes with a gasp that would’ve been a scream if he had more air in his lungs. His head snaps back, his whole body tensing as his release spills all over his stomach and chest. He feels himself clenching down hard around Koutarou and the other man groans, his hips stuttering.

“ _Keiji_.”

He feels Koutarou’s cock pulsing inside him, hot and hard as he reaches his own climax. A few more thrusts to ride it out and Koutarou stops moving, buried deep inside Keiji. He tips his head down and captures Keiji’s lips for a breathless, passionate kiss.

After a moment he breaks the kiss and slowly pulls out. Keiji lets out a soft whimper at the loss, at the sensation of cum dripping out of him.

“Are you okay?” Koutarou searches his eyes as he brushes back Keiji’s sweat-damp hair.

“Very,” Keiji replies as he unhooks his trembling legs from Koutarou and sinks into the mattress. 

Koutarou grins and kisses his forehead before pushing himself up so he can grab a few tissues from the bedside table. He hastily cleans off Keiji’s stomach, attempts to wipe down his thighs.

It’s a mostly futile effort. Keiji knows he’s a complete mess, but he also doesn’t care in the least. They can shower in a bit, worry about laundry later. Right now all he wants is for Koutarou to hold him.

He reaches for his boyfriend, pulls him close so they can press their bodies together. They’re both sweaty and sticky, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they have each other.

Koutarou kisses him again, slow and sweet, and they exchange soft whispers of _I love you_ , and Keiji is sure that no one else in all of history has ever been so perfectly happy as he is in this moment. He touches Koutarou’s face, thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. How did he end up with the most beautiful person in the whole damn world?

_I’m so lucky_ , Keiji thinks.

Just as Koutarou murmurs, “I’m so lucky.”

And Keiji laughs, happy tears stinging his eyes as he kisses him; then he kisses him again when Koutarou asks, “What’s so funny?”

“Life,” Keiji answers, because he never thought his would change so much when he sent off an email inquiring about a room for rent, but he’s so fucking thankful that it did.

Because Akaashi Keiji loves his roommate.

He thinks, maybe, this was inevitable. And it’s entirely his roommate’s fault.

**Author's Note:**

> THE END!!! wow! we made it!
> 
> thank you so very much for reading, i truly hope you enjoyed this story! and special thank you to everyone who's commented, shared on social media, peer pressured their friends to read, or made fanart!!! especially those of you who have been around from the very beginning! i know it's not always appealing to start reading an incomplete fic, so i really appreciate you giving me a chance and trusting me to see it through to the end!
> 
> ALSO! if you enjoyed this, you'll probably like my other bokuaka works, so be sure to check those out too! (and i've got more on the way because head empty no thoughts only bokuaka. so i hope you stay tuned!)
> 
> ALSO ALSO! check out the amazing art inspired by this fic!!!
> 
> thank you to laperclip for making some awesome art of [the laundry room kiss](https://twitter.com/laperclip/status/1306752700709703682) (there’s a [sketch](https://twitter.com/laperclip/status/1300588614691090432) too!) and [possessive akaashi after the halloween party](https://twitter.com/pilcrepal/status/1304063805735890945)!!
> 
> and thank you to ickypea for this lovely art of [the laundry room kiss](https://twitter.com/ickypea/status/1308297878092148736)!!
> 
> follow me on twitter maybe - [@kazdolyn](http://www.twitter.com/kazdolyn)


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